My family loves animals. In fact, I can confidently state that we occasionally prefer them to people, that’s how much we love them. Conversely, we all still eat meat, albeit with much guilt. We’re a confused lot for sure. I like to think of us as part-time Jains.

So it’s only a little surprising when my dad calls me from work early in the morning and tells me “I’ve found an injured butterfly, what do I feed it?”.

Yes folks, this is my dad. He’s found an injured bug, and has decided to nurse it back to the entomological version of the Good Life. He decides to put it in a box and bring it home. My mom thinks this is cute and funny, so she’s on board.

I’m half asleep, so I tell him to put some peeled, overripe bananas in the box and I’ll call him later. I go on to enjoy my first spinning class (more on that later!) and then I get an email with pics of this ‘butterfly’ he’s so proud of.

It’s a moth. A massive, 7″ wingspan moth. A not-local moth to boot (lots of that going on lately, must be the warm winter we had). I call my dad and inform him that

a) It’s a moth.

and b) It might not be injured. It might be asleep. You should leave it in the balcony at least.

My loving dad, who’s very attached to his bug at this point is sure it was injured, so he keeps it indoors overnight.

In the morning I get a text from my mom. “We can’t find the bug. Help.”

Thanking my lucky stars that, of all the places I store my yarn stash I haven’t yet expanded into my parents home, Tito and I go over there to start the Great Moth Hunt. We peer into corners, go through all the closets and shine flashlights into every crevice. No dice.

A small piece of wing in the kitchen has convinced my dad that the ferret ate it and he is understandably distressed. I find it suspicious and suggest that we pull the fridge out. Bingo.

This poor moth had been decimated by our refrigerator fan. The sight was completely disgusting. I mean really, really disgusting. It had been a very very big bug.

My poor dad! He was a bit down for the rest of the day. I think there is a good chance that the bug was on it’s way out regardless and that our fridge simply sped along the inevitable. The story was so typical of my sweet dad though, and I had to share!