The Glass Hunter

A fat green bottle fly slammed into the outdoor screen, buzzing frantically against the wire mesh. I dropped into an instant patrol crouch, ears pinned, holding my breath against the painted wood. It crawled sideways, right at eye level, just millimeters past the barrier. Shifting my weight onto my bottom edge, I lunged forward with a sharp snap of my spine, tapping the mesh with a flat, muffled thump. The fly buzzed, took flight, and vanished into the yard. Territory defended. I held my post, whiskers twitching at the clear air.