"The Fly Who Came In From The Cold"
by John Schneider

Just before Thanksgiving of 2009, I looked out of my window and saw a bright blue sky.   I opened my back door and eagerly let in the fresh air of this very beautiful day.  There was a slight chill in the air, but not enough to justify wearing a sweater.  Maybe a long-sleeve shirt would suffice, but I didn’t care.  It was a refreshing change from the gray skies of the past month.

So, for several hours, the door stayed open and I went about my business which was packing a suitcase.  I was preparing for my annual pilgrimage to Florida for some turkey and at least a dozen other side dishes which would be prepared by my brother whose occupation was gourmet chef for the county.

By day’s end, I had closed the door, shut the suitcase, and went to bed early so I would be refreshed for an early-morning flight to my parents’ home.   As I usually did upon retiring, I turned off the bedroom light and turned on the television before falling asleep.  I became more and more sleepy and was just about to turn off the television when I felt something brush across my face. And then, just at the moment of pushing the button to turn off the TV, a small something-or-other darted across the screen. But I was too tired to consider what flew across the final frame of whatever program I was watching.

I woke up at 4:45am according to plan and as I walked into the kitchen, there it was on the counter.  It was a fly.  But I was still a little too tired and a little too slow to do anything about it.  So I went into the bathroom to take my shower while the coffee brewed.  When I eventually returned to the kitchen, the fly was gone.  

While drinking my coffee and eating a slice of toast, the fly returned and landed on my coffee table.  It was just within reach and if I was quick enough, I might be able to kill it.  I didn’t really want fly’s blood on my hand (literally), so I slowly reached for a magazine, but was too late.  I think the fly sensed imminent danger and flew away before I could deal the deadly blow.

Just before I left with my suitcase, I opened the door and tried to chase it outside into the cold air.  But the fly wasn’t stupid and probably knew my place was much warmer and more comfortable than the inhospitable open air.  I gave up and left for the airport.  Flies only live a short time, I thought to myself.   I would probably see his lifeless body on the countertop when I returned from Florida in four days. 

While sitting poolside and enjoying the warm weather of Florida, I forgot all about the winged intruder.  Instead, I started thinking – as I always do during this particular holiday – about dieting as soon as I got home, but not before.  Gluttony is okay during Turkey Day.

I soon flew back home, opened my front door and there it was – ALIVE!  I almost had the crazy notion that it was happy to see me because it was flying around my head like a maniac.  Maybe it got a little stir crazy being in the house all alone.  My cat used to do the same thing when I returned from a trip, but it couldn't fly. 

I was really tired and went to bed almost immediately.  Unfortunately, the fly came with me.  I heard it whispering in my ear, but I had no clue about what it was saying.  I thought for sure that this creature would be dead by the time I got home, but it wasn’t.  It was very much alive, and I wondered how it survived.  What did it eat?  And, even more importantly, where did it excrete what it ate? 

The next morning I sat in front on my computer with a cup of coffee to read all of my e-mail messages.  After reading about three or four messages, my little friend planted himself firmly on my computer screen.  Was he reading my mail? Without hesitation, I swatted the screen with my hand.  This guy was fast because it was almost like he could read my mind.  He was gone before I even went into motion.  I tried swatting him at least a dozen times.

Okay, then I did something for which I feel quite foolish.  I went to the kitchen, got a spray can of Lysol and planned my attack.  If I couldn’t kill him in a cloud of disinfectant spray, he would at least be germ-free.  I thought maybe the lethal cloud would slowly kill him by filling his little lungs – if he had any – with the spray.  Unfortunately, he survived the attack. I tried opening the door several times, but he seemed to really enjoy being domesticated. 

It was now three weeks since I discovered this creature in my home.  So I did some research to learn when he (not it) would die of old age.  I had it all wrong!  I learned that the fly lives much longer than I had expected.  The average lifespan of the fly is 25 to 60 days. With proper care and feeding, they can live to a ripe old age of 80 to 92 days.   So much for hoping he would die of natural causes.

Something strange started happening as we started spending more time with each other.  He started becoming more brazen during his visits.  For example, I’d be clicking away on my keyboard and he would land just inches away and look up at me.  Very curious behavior.  My story about this fly now takes an even more curious turn because I started to have feelings for him.  I definitely couldn’t kill him now and I didn’t want to kill.  Actually, I grew quite fond of him and named him, Buzzy.  Yes, it’s true. I had adopted a new pet.   Apparently, Buzzy seemed to know that I meant him no harm because soon he was landing on my arm to take his daily bath.  Incidentally, a fly washes very much like a cat. Buzzy would use his front “legs” and wipe his antennae while I watched him. One day, while on the couch and watching television, Buzzy landed on the end of my nose and it looked like he was staring up at me.  Another time, I was reclined on my couch with a cordless speakerphone on my chest.  I was telling a friend about the fly’s peculiar behavior when Buzzy landed on the phone as though he wanted to be part of the conversation.  I’m not making this up.  This fly was really weird.

I did some more research and learned that the lowly fly can actually learn things.  What??  Could I possibly teach Buzzy some tricks before he died of old age?  And on a related subject, I was beginning to become somewhat sad about Buzzy’s short life span.  After all, maybe he was already an old fly when he arrived here.

It’s now been more than a month since my friend started living with me.  My human friends make jokes and suggest I take more showers. Incidentally, Buzzy actually seems to enjoy the mist created from a hot shower and he’s always there to greet me when I slide open the shower curtain. 

The other day, I caught him drinking out of the toilet.  I even leave him scraps of food on the kitchen counter.  And I still don’t know where he poops and I probably don’t want to know. 

Just this morning, I was at a fast-food restaurant and suddenly several of Buzzy’s friends joined me.  Has the word spread to others that I'm a fly-friendly human?  Even more troublesome is the fact that I’m now actually speaking to Buzzy.  Don’t get too worried because these aren’t intellectual conversations.  I just say hello when he greets me at the front door and once in a while I say goodnight.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be graced with Buzzy’s presence.  I never really thought of a fly as a living entity with some degree of consciousness.  I never thought much about the smaller creatures who share space with us on this planet.  In fact, I never think much about all the microscopic entities which are living on me and inside of me right now.   It’s a strange though, isn’t it?  There are microorganisms living on Buzzy, as well, but he's probably not  aware of them.    

I never thought, in a million years, that I’d have a fly for a companion.  I can’t put a leash on Buzzy and take him for a walk like you can do with your dog, but he can do a lot of things your dog can’t do.  I can’t really pet him, but that’s okay.  All I can do now is make sure his final days are happy ones, so I make sure there's always a rotting apple on a plate and an open toilet from which to drink.  And most importantly, I let him land where he will without trying to swat him away.  And maybe someday, after he has passed out of existence, I’ll figure out exactly where he pooped.