Today I saved a small bug. It was clinging to the tiles of the shower stall, trying not to drown in the beads of water. By the time I took my final rinse, it was on the floor. Using a plastic cup and a dry rectangle, I transported him to the vanity counter. He looked dead. I left him there and gradually, I saw the twitch of a leg. Then he rolled into an upright position. It was too cold to put him outside. I delivered him to the basement and left him on top of the filing cabinet. He played dead, but when I returned to check, he had crawled off.
I am not sure why I cried when he was on the shower floor. It looked like it was too late, the force of the water had knocked him down. Nor, did I fully understand, why I felt a sense of joy when I later checked, and knew he was still alive.
I do know that when I saw him, crumpled on the vanity, for a brief moment, I felt like him. His later recovery brought me hope.