Laura Griffin wouldn’t hurt a fly. She really wouldn’t. She had an intense dislike of the gooey fly catcher that dangled menacingly from the kitchen ceiling. Despite several attempts to dislodge it with a sweeping brush, the thumb tack that secured the death trap in place, remained out of reach. As the body count rose, Laura resorted to preventative measures. At the first sound of buzzing, she’d jump up onto the countertop, risking life and limb, to open a window and shoo out the imperilled insect. She rejoiced in the ones who evaded capture, and she mourned the ones who weren’t so lucky.