Imagine getting home from work everyday, opening your front door and being greeted by the happy clicks of your pet rhino beetle sprinting across the linoleum towards you. Its monstrous wings unfold as eye contact is made and they begin churning in delight, revving decibels comparable to a riding lawnmower as they pick up speed and lift it into the air. L0ose papers sweep through your apartment. Lampshades are flung, bouncing from wall to wall. Slowly, it propels itself to you, your arms outstretched in greeting, and putters to a stop at your chest, latching it's legs to the already worn fabrics of your work uniform. You stroke the sheen of it's thorax as it's proboscis unravels to lick at the day's buildup of salt deposited at your neck. You wrap your arms around your best friend and coddle it like an infant, humming a song with no discernable melody. "I love you, giant beetle." You will say. "I love you so very much."