Tonight I was doing dishes when a big fat fly landed on the vertical window frame in front of me. My first thought was to reach for the fly swatter, but while I've killed a lot of flies over the years these days I always hesitate, feeling that Jill is looking over my shoulder and disapproving. She never liked to kill anything. So while I was mentally debating the fly's demise, another thought came into my head: Place the edge of the fly swatter next to him. He will step onto it, and you can carry him to the other window and put him outside. Wondering where that thought came from, I said out loud, "That's ridiculous." Flies seem to recognize fly swatters, and I was certain any fly, including this one, would take off the instant I approached him with one in my hand.
The thought persisted. So I dried my hands, picked up a fly swatter, and reached out to the fly. I put the edge next to him, and in the process got a little too close and actually bumped him. He took a step backward. Then after a moment he stepped forward—onto the fly swatter. I carried it, with the fly aboard, to the window at the other end of the kitchen. Leaning over, I opened the window. When the fly got outside, he flew off.
Leave it to Jill to orchestrate miracles that don't involve obvious props like burning bushes and parting waters.