#612 Quick and Dead

So I moved into my new house.
It has been a study in accommodations.
A funny English word—accommodations. It can mean where you are staying, as in, the accommodations provided by the hotel were excellent.
Or it can mean how you are having to change, as in, I had to make accommodations for the stiffness of the mattress at the hotel.
A word that means both staying and changing.
Hmm. Sounds like a relationship.
In the course of moving in, I acquired my first pet at my new accommodations. His name is Sam.
Or was.
I am sorry to report Sam is now dead.
Sam was a fly. In the larger scheme of things, the lifespan of a fly is somewhat short. You’re lucky to get a couple of weeks out of ‘em.
So as pets go, it’s good to guard your heart. Don’t get too involved. I’ve been joking the last couple of days that Sam is on his last 6 legs and, at a fortnight, was well on his way to dipteral octogenarianism.
But I was still a little sad this morning when I looked at the kitchen window and saw him inert and lifeless in the sill. We didn’t share much Sam and I, but it was special.
He wouldn’t bother me as I raced around the house, cleaning this and repairing that, but when I’d finally sit down at the end of a long day of repairs, he’d buzz around me a couple of times and settle on my forehead for a lick of dried sweat.
As if to say, “Good job Funny Guy, see, the sweat of your brow sustains others.”
I developed no such relationship with the spider I killed the previous morning. Although, in respect for all things great and small, I congratulated him on living a good life as a spider and wished him a better place on the wheel on his return.
Who knows? Maybe my complement helped upgrade him to a beetle in his next reincarnation.
I hope the best for Sam as well.
Being a fly may not be hard, but he was the best damn fly I’ve ever called friend.
America, ya gotta love it