The Quality of Mercy:

Facing the mirror, insufficiently caffeinated, wielding my father's primitive safety razor, is always disconcerting. To look down and find little creatures struggling up the sink sides like Sisyphus, only to tumble back down--priceless--no, I mean pitiful. We build fancy fish ladders, set aside square miles of prime timber for the benefit of a rare owl. People stop to escort turtles across the road. But if you have more than four legs--you're on your own. Hardly seems fair. How much could it cost to provide little traction strips on sinks, tubs and toilets, little escape ladders for desperate arthropods? Less than we spend as a nation, I bet, on Preparation H. I could start a campaign, or, I could shave and go to work.