Simon lapped at some water in his bowl this morning. Somehow a fly had gotten into the apartment, and it was buzzing around his tail, alighting on his fuzzy pink ears. He stared at the fly disdainfully.

“Simon,” I said to him, “If you want it to leave you alone, you’ll have to kill it.”

Dan sat at the kitchen table a few feet away. He laughed, and said, “You sound like the president.”