I had just arrived back from a long bicycle ride. After taking off my helmet, I ran my fingers through my hair to remove any insects which might have been caught up in the excitement and come along for the ride.

A beetle, perhaps a centimetre long, fell on its back onto the white counter. Its tiny feet wriggled furiously, and I thought about Die Verwandlung.

I wondered at the urgency of the beetle's gesticulations, leaned my hand against the wall, and looked closer, since I was still light-headed after an intense ride. As my eyes slowly focused, I noticed that the beetle's legs weren't the only thing moving. I blinked.

The scene was quite grotesque. Three very small, reddish spiders were crawling over the body of the beetle, sharply prodding its outer armor with their poised appendages and vigorously applying their mandibles. The spiders were precise, like connoisseurs with coconut, yet they worked at a maddening speed.

Within seconds, the beetle's legs stiffened. The spiders (mites?) had pierced and neutralized a prey more than ten times their combined weight. I left them alone to their meal.