I have a fly vac­u­um named Dolores.

For some rea­son, flies have been com­ing into the apart­ment through some mag­i­cal ple­copter­an gate­way, the loca­tion of which I haven’t been able to deter­mine yet. Since Dolly is an indoor cat, the flies have been the only live thing that she’s even pounced on, aside from my toes under the cov­ers.

She’s quite an effi­cient fly hunter, able to swat one with­out much trou­ble, although she con­sis­tent­ly lets them get away when she takes an inspec­tion under her paw by lift­ing it up. Once she actu­al­ly catch­es one and is able to get her tongue on it, she’ll gob­ble it hap­pi­ly, and then look as if she had­n’t eat­en her play­mate. Sometimes the fly will soar to my ceil­ing, and she’ll meow at me with frus­tra­tion, nev­er look­ing away from the buzzing black dot.