This morning as I was walking through my bathroom I noticed a little bug in the doorway. My first thought was that I was very happy there was only ONE of them, as we had an infestation of this particular species of bug a few weeks ago- they were everywhere outside our kitchen window and a few hardy, determined ones managed to get inside. They weren't bad bugs- they look like little beetles with black bodies and a red design on their thorax. They didn't fly at my face, attack my feet or sting my hands. They were easy to scoop up with a magazine and throw out the door. So we lived in symbiotic harmony until the first frost when I found a graveyard of dead beetles on the ground.
So today, I was impressed by this little survivor on my bathroom floor. I stepped over him and figured that if he was stubborn enough to survive the genocide of coldness that took out the rest of his buddies that he could hang out. When I walked through the bathroom an hour later, he was climbing up the curtain on the other side of the bathroom. This would be akin to me traversing the Grand Canyon in 60 minutes. Again- I was impressed.
And also chagrined by the fact that he had spent his hour determinedly crossing the bathroom to get to the window, and I had spent my hour baking a cake, drinking two cups of coffee and looking for homeopathic remedies for ringworm on the internet. He used Pursy's nap time a little more wisely.