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.