The clock aired that the end of the day was a block away. It was a midsummer night, yet the swelter of dog days suppressed any dreaming. The last hours I had spent battling for sleep. I took a somnambulant stroll, refreshed my face, and composed my mind on the diary until I was too weary to even strike a flyspeck. Then I released myself to collapse facedown onto the bed. Just as the prostration enclosed the final minutes of my wakefulness, my auricle was brought to full alert by a pestilent brush.

The intruder probably didn’t realise that what just betided was kamikaze. Yet, I did.

Despite the alarm, I opted for a more measured approach. All exits carefully barricaded, I seized the nearest volume, flickered the lights. I marked my target. Although my heart was pounding against my temples, I acted careful and collected as I approached. Three steps, then snap! The tinted wallpaper hinted at my victory, but I could not espy the infiltrator. By tracing the abating buzz, I found the bloodsucker prowling away. Destitute of mercy yet reluctant to contact, I sprayed as if I were extinguishing an inferno; because, surely, everyone knows that infernal mozzies have more lives than do cats.