Someone needs to remind Nikki that she is the Goddess of the Hunt. My apartment has been infested with a gang of flies, and Nikki is not looking after her duties. A fly can buzz right past her nose, and she doesn't react at all. The only time she is even remotely interested in them is when they gather on the ceiling, where she cannot reach them. Sure enough, then she will jump up on the kitchen cabinet (the highest vantage point) and yell at them to come down, but when they do come down, she ignores them again.

Frank used to be my fly hunter extraordinaire, but now he ignores them, too. What is worse, when I roll up a newspaper to swat flies, Frank cowers and hides. If someone else saw him, they would think I am in the habit of swatting Frank with rolled-up newspapers. He is such an actor. Just now, I went on another rampage, swatting flies right and left, and Frank is on top of the bookcase, giving me this hurt look and huddles up as if he's trying to make himself invisible. He gives me these sidelong glances, as if wondering when I'll be coming after him. Hollywood has lost a great actor in Frank.

Copyright © Marina Kurten
September 14, 2002