Earlier today I was surprised by a large black beetle standing still on the floor of my terrace and crawling with ants. When I touched it, it did not budge. The ants paid me no attention, either. Only then I noticed that one of beetle’s wings was sticking out of its carapace at a strange angle. It must have been dead for a while for the ants to be picking it apart in such numbers. Be that as it may, I was impressed by its standing death. When I picked the beetle up, I could not believe how firm its six legs were still. And so were its antennae. Before I tossed it into the garden under the terrace, I inspected it from all sides. With the exception of that mangled wing, it looked no less than perfect. It was sparkling black, too. Only the profusion of voracious ants signaled that something was amiss. Otherwise, I would not have touched it at all. Death perfect, as it were.