Last night we had a rather large fly in the house. This little beastie was so large a bumble bee would have felt svelt in comparison. It zipped around in the hallway and scared the crap out of JoDee just as she was leaving the den to watch TV. I tried to kill it, but it buzzed into the bathroom. I got out our trusty fly-trap (Hoover), but by then the fly disappeared from view. I checked everywhere obvious for it (twice) but the little bugger got away. "He's still in there", remarked JoDee, "and he'll come out when I'm using the bathroom". During the TV show, I checked the bathroom again to see if he was still in there. Nothing. JoDee got up after a while and went to use the bathroom. "He's still in there". I sat on the couch, partially paying attention to the commercials, reading my book, and listening for the return of our little visitor. A shriek rang through the apartment; a shriek that could only mean one thing: our little friend made good on JoDee's prediction. I raced to the bathroom to see what happened. Our little friend proved more devious than even Hitchcock himself. He was situated in the place guaranteed to elicit maximal surprise and scare the crap out of any unsuspecting victim.
He was on the toilet paper
Fortunately this time I was able to get him with our electric fly-trap (with attachments), and put an end to his devious ways. Bad fly!
Makes you wonder if the little bugger wasn't taking direction from the master of suspense himself.