Yesterday, I was doing something in the kitchen and a spotted blur ran down the hall into the bedroom. When I checked on her, she was banging on her crate. I hadn’t put it away since the other day when she got sick and I locked her in while I cleaned the mess. She sometimes like to climb in and out of it, so I opened the door for her.
I came back into the room about 5 minutes later and she was all crammed inside. Doesn’t look very comfortable, does it?
It wasn’t until I walked back into the hallway that I realized what she was hiding from: a fly. Well, the flyswatter to be exact!
She isn’t afraid of flies (thank goodness!). But, she is afraid of the flyswatter. Somewhere along the line she made the connection that a fly in the house means someone will wield a flyswatter.
She’s never been hit with one, so it isn’t that. I know that one day she was sound asleep when my mom pulled up the blinds and began swatting a fly in the window. (My mom hates flies as much as Misha hates flyswatters.) Misha jumped out of her bed freaked out. I don’t think she has ever forgotten.
Being the brave one in the house at that moment, I shooed the fly to the door and let it out. Then, I waited. It took Misha about 20 minutes before she decided the coast was clear.