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Subject: The battered fly

In the dead of summer a fly was resting on a leaf beside a lake. The

hot, dry fly who said to no one in particular, "Gosh... if I go down

three inches I will feel the mist from the water and I will be

refreshed."

There was a fish in the water thinking, "Gosh... if that fly goes down

three inches, I can eat him."

There was a bear on the shore thinking, "Gosh... if that fly goes down

three inches, that fish will jump for the fly and I will grab him."

It also happened that a hunter was farther up the bank of the lake

preparing to eat a cheese sandwich. "Gosh..." he thought, "if that fly

goes down three inches, and that fish leaps for it, that bear will

expose himself and grab for the fish. I'll shoot the bear and have a

proper lunch."

You probably think this is enough activity on one bank of a lake, but

I can tell you there's more.

A wee mouse by the hunter's foot was thinking, "Gosh... if that fly

goes down three inches, and that fish jumps for that fly, and that

bear grabs for that fish, the dumb hunter will shoot the bear and drop his

cheese sandwich."

A cat lurking in the bushes took in this scene and thought, as was

fashionable to do on the banks of this particular lake around lunch

time. "Gosh... if that fly goes down three inches, and that fish jumps

for that fly, and that bear grabs for that fish, and that hunter shoots

that bear, and that mouse makes off with the cheese sandwich, then I

can have mouse for lunch."

The poor fly is finally so hot and so dry that he heads down for the

cooling mist of the water. The fish swallows the fly. The bear grabs

the fish. The hunter shoots the bear. The mouse grabs the cheese sandwich.

The cat jumps for the mouse. The mouse ducks. The cat falls into the

water and drowns.

The moral of the story: Whenever a fly goes down three inches some

pussy is in serious danger.