So last night I picked up the towel in the bathroom and there was a bug on it. It was just a boxy little beetle, one of those dull charcoal grey ones that you see a lot in the garden, and sometimes in the house. So I said to him “you need to get off my towel” and I flicked him with my finger but he wouldn’t let go
So then I tried to nudge him off, and finally I sort of half nudged half picked him up and moved him to the windowsill where he fell onto his back. And then he didn’t move. So I said “bug are you okay?”
Me: bug, are you dead?
I blew on him a couple of times and he tumbled around, and I thought during one of the tumbles I saw a leg move, but it could have been my breath, or could have been anything.
I thought “the bug is dead. Poor bug.” but he landed the right way, so I just left him alone figuring if he’s dead well I’ll get rid of him later.
I kept checking on him while I worked around the bathroom.
Me: Bug, are you dead?
And so on.
Walked out of the bathroom, did something in the kitchen, and when I came back he was gone.
Me: I knew it, you little liar, I knew you weren’t dead! Bastard.
The moral of this story is that bugs are sly and tricksy, and will lie to you even when you address them courteously. Little bastards.
Tales from Crazy House 