As I was brushing my teeth, a fat fly was keeping me company. Its irregular buzzes suggested he was old, although any proper biological judgement would be impossible for me. At first, I was annoyed and wanted to get rid of this creature.

Annoyance is, however, too petty a reason to kill. Still buzzing, the fat fly bumped itself against the window a few times, as if one fateful day the glass would shatter and open a whole new world to the fly. None of that, yet another attempt. This time in an upper corner of the window.

The fly hadn’t noticed the arachnid barbed wire dreadfully hanging down from the old wood of the frame. Many sad bodies wrapped in cobweb could be seen dangling. Casualties from previous battles.

Before long the fly’s wings too were stuck and frantically rolling and wallowing commenced. Slowly but surely, the spider approached. A different being in every sense: creeping instead of flying, slender and not fat, silent rather than buzzing, patient instead of bumping its head against a window its entire life, but most of all, hunter rather than prey.

The eight-pawed trapper tried to hold the victim down, but the big body proved resilient. Without any discernible technique the fly fought back. Some ten paws and two wings met in fierce melee. It seemed to last forever until somehow the fly finally leapt free from the wire. A short buzz of confidence went through the thin cold air of the dank building, while the spider beat the retreat.

Once more the fly started bumping against the glass repeatedly, although now it seemed to do so to emphasise its own stupidity. “Well done, fly” I murmured through the toothpaste, impressed. This was perhaps the longest session of brushing my teeth ever.