Killing my first mosquito of the season has me all like, "Urg. Fuck. I hate you mosquito!" and then all, "Oh, but hey, that means that spring is finally coming. You rock little fellow," so then I show Little Fellow (his name now) to little Sybil (the cat) and yell, "Faster, pussycat! Kill! Kill!" to which she stares at my pointing finger as it turns to a sleeve-covered fist and slams into the mosquito, flattening it onto a Vanity Fair subscription solicitation.