I saw you yesterday and remarked on the poetic tragedy of your being separated from your giant moth lover (at least 5cm long) while it was here inside, terrorizing me. Yes, that’s a very sad story, I said, as you desperately hit yourself again and again against my window. You are out there and your friend is with me, and you are forever parted now. And then I took a fly swatter and smashed it onto your giant moth lover, or sister, or lifelong friend. And I swept it into the bin.
And here you are again, flying into my window repeatedly, wondering Where is Wilma? Where is my darling giant moth Wilma? Well, I am afraid the news is bad, George. I killed her. She’s dead. Her corpse is rotting in my bathroom trash bin. I would offer to have you visit her but it wouldn’t end well for you.
Cheers,
Suz
