The Huntress

One night last week, I stepped into my apartment after retrieving a small basket from the storage closet off my balcony to hear that dreaded sound—BZZZZZZZZZT. In the mere 12 seconds I’d been outside (and through the mere two and a quarter inches the door had been left open), something managed to get in. And from the shocking force of the vibration, I could tell it was something gi-freakin’-normous.

Before I could formulate a guess as to the exact nature of its creepiness, Holly descended on the black levitating monstrosity. With a couple of spirited claps, she brought it to the ground. (This little kitty is one heck of a bug catcher, let me tell you.)

My sigh of relief was cut short when “the creature” suddenly leapt from Holly’s grasp and bounced its away under my file cabinet. "Aww...shucks," she whined.

“What was that, Hol?” I wearily asked her.

"I have no idea. But I’m going to get it." She reached her paw under the edge of the cabinet and batted around, her attentive head zipping from side to side.

"The creature” emerged from the back side of the cabinet and flitted clumsily toward the kitchen, with Holly in hot pursuit on the floor below. It landed on the blinds of my kitchen window, allowing me an opportunity for closer inspection.

Thankfully, “the creature” turned out to be a simple house fly—albeit a big, black, and hairy one. But even though I had a clear shot, there was NO WAY I was taking it out. First of all, Ms. Jill of Ark tries very hard to respect all living things (yes, even big, black, hairy things with virtually omnidirectional eyes and six legs). Second, “taking it out” (after my attempt to politely invite it to follow me back outside failed) meant I would actually have to come into some form of contact with it. (I said I respected all life. I didn’t say I was cool with touching all life.) And third, had I gotten over my heebie jeebies enough to be successful in my attempt to take out “the creature,” I knew that poor Holly never would have forgiven me. That hunt was hers.

Since “the creature” remained quiet after I'd sized it up, I practically forgot about it until the next morning when I noticed that Holly had resumed stalking mode. “Is it flying around again?,” I inquired, before the buzzing had a chance to catch me by surprise.

"No."

“Then why are you….”

"It doesn’t matter. I’m just making sure I’m ready for it, wherever it is."

“You’re such a good huntress,” I told her. But instead of reveling in the compliment, she said something that threw me for a loop.

"So are you. You just have to want it badly enough."

Looking back, it occurred to me how many dreams I'd given up on simply because I couldn't see how they could be achieved after certain circumstances came about. Once I'd convinced myself that these dreams were unattainable, the heartache became so unbearable that I immediately abandoned all efforts. Eventually, I just stopped asking myself what it was I wanted all together so I would never again have to face the torture of not being able to have it.

Maybe I really do need to start chasing with fervor those HUGE flies that lure me to the hunt with nothing more than the promise of great adventure. And maybe I need to stop feeling so silly about chasing them once they're no longer in plain sight.

(That IS indeed a metaphor. I'm not literally planning to chase flies. Heebie jeebies, remember?)