Henry

Henry was a common leafhopper. He had never met or even heard of an uncommon leafhopper much less a rare leafhopper, but nonetheless being called common annoyed him.
“Henry the common leaf hopper” just didn’t command respect in the insect world. Worse than all this, the common leaf hopper provided protein and nutrients for the rest of the food chain. Frogs, spiders, foxes, birds of every description, heck--even bears would have been happy to have Henry for lunch. This gave Henry a bit of a complex.
Henry was nervous. He often shook like a leaf. He also looked like a leaf so the metaphor is more appropriate than you originally thought. Henry was in his mid fifties. (Bug years of course, about three weeks for naked apes). Anyway, he had been to the tops of thirty-seven trees in his lifetime, there to gaze down on the jungle, while calming his nerves.
Finally, he resolved his inner conflict and decided to resign himself to his purpose in life: an important part of the food chain. He would have liked to be a bigger part of the tapestry of life but he understood that the thread, the stitch, and the patch are equally important to the beauty of a quilt, none more important than the other. All this in his little bug brain.
That day he went down to the swamp to eat mung grass and have a drink. After his meal a Skinny Billed Pond Jumper ate Henry.
Henry chuckled, “What timing.”