"The rough hair leaves her body, the horns disappear, the great eyes grow smaller, the gaping mouth shrinks, the shoulders and hands return, and the hooves vanish, each hoof changing back into five nails...Able to stand on two feet she raises herself erect and—fearing to speak in case she lows like a heifer—timidly attempts long-neglected words."

--Ovid, The Metamorphoses 1:743-746

I had trouble sleeping again last night, spending a long time listening to cars pass outside my window and regretting the day's caffeine. Just as I was almost asleep, my phone buzzed noisily against the hardwood floor.

I had a new message.

Rolling over and picking it up, I found all the usual notifications. Duolingo was upset at me for not practicing Spanish for the last 15 years. Google Photos wanted to show me the latest demented collage it had built for me unasked. Justin Traasdahl was the only one who liked my Tweet, again.

The buzz was a Facebook message request from someone named Jon Burrows. Against my better judgement, I accepted it.

I was being roasted by a stranger on Facebook. Is this what it feels like to be an anti-vaxxer mom? Still, this was the closest thing to fan mail I was ever likely to get, so I magnanimously replied.

That's right. A cow. I was ready to leave her on read then, and perhaps I should have, but I had nothing better to do. Maybe I could write a funny blog post about this later, I told myself.

A few hours later, I woke up and the messages were gone.