When they were kittens, Sophie and Kasha hunted flies with vigor. Insects that managed to invade the inner sanctum of their feline lair were soon exterminated, often through acrobatic assassination missions. However, easy success breeds contempt (and a few extra pounds breeds lethargy and a Garfield philosophy towards life) so after a few years I had to break out the fly swatter. Enter Hank, born with the hunting instinct but without the hunter's coordination or finesse. Several days ago a fly entered through the back door and was immediately stunned by the frigid climate of our air conditioned house. Hank caught sight of the fly floundering against the window and jumped into action, attempting to smash it with his big nose. The result: a dizzy, stunned fly; a dizzy, stunned Labrador; and more money for the Windex corporation...
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