I have a tensie-wensie obsession with caterpillars. And butterflies. How could I not? Butterflies are the grown-up version of fairies…colorful and magical.
Yes, I said magical.
Do you know any other creature that can turn from a hairy worm into a delicate-winged creation whose beauty can only be masked by flower blossoms?
It’s the stuff of rainbows and unicorns people!
So imagine my horror when I walked onto the front porch recently and heard a loud WHAP! I looked over to see Mr. Spock eagerly pulling the wings off the butterfly he just murdered. Or my guilt when I rushed into the garage only to find that the concrete floor had become an open-air cemetery for butterflies of all kinds.
My cat is a killer. Not of creepy, gross things like mice and snakes, but of perfect, sweet flutterbys. And in true Funny Farm fashion, the cat has taught the new puppy, Luna, his evil-hunting ways.
While floating in the crystal blue pool yesterday, I looked over to see the puppy staring up at me with butterfly wings flapping frantically from the sides of her closed jaws. Mr. Spock lounged on the pool deck and stared lazily at Luna, a smug grin behind his long whiskers. I grabbed him with soaking wet hands and gave him the stink-eye.
“Not cool Mr. Spock. Not. Cool.”
|“Back away from the flowering bushes Mr. Spock or, so help me, I will call Butterfly Hunters Anonymous and there will be an intervention!”|