The tricky creature was sitting on my window sill all morning. It had been sitting there for what felt like days, but my fever accounted for, it was probably closer to a few hours. Its stout qualities were masked by its lengthy antennae and every—I guess four to seven minutes—it would make a strangled click sound. Apart from those two things, the only other insight I gained into my companion's life was when, without warning, it jumped to the dusty end table and promptly drown itself in my glass of cherry 7-up.
Much of my own worldview then was predicated on higher and lower order beings—and seeing as it was just an insect—I was inclined to discredit the whole thing. Even after I had recovered from that short bug, the flu or whatever it was, I did not talk about it much.
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