Bath time

He was in the bath. We're shower types - he didn't bother us. Must've been there for days, big, menacing in an arachnid kind of way. He couldn't get up the slippery surface. Must've been starving!

Sometimes too softhearted for my own good, I knew that few flies ventured downstairs to the cool bathroom. I tried to tempt him with one I'd recently splatted. No, I guess he wanted to kill his own; I understand that particular pleasure.

Gingerly, I scooped him into a box. No struggle, he knew it was for the best.

He seemed very happy on the lavender.