Home Invasion

We are presently suffering through a home invasion. 

Perhaps home invasion is too strong a description.

What I should say is: There is a moth inside our house.

The moth first strafed my face a couple nights ago in a wild, arcing dive from a position on the living room paddle fan.  I quickly wove to the left to avoid a collision.   An hour after the first skirmish, the moth sputtered slowly across breadth of the living room, nearly scraping against that girls face in the process. 

“Moth!” exclaimed that girl.

We both pressed ourselves against the back of the sofa, grimacing as the moth scratched by.

I need to make a confession.  The moth is pretty small—smaller than a common housefly.  And, I will admit, what the moth lacks in size it makes up for in frighteningly incompetent flying skills.  I have seen the moth tumbling from a lamp and glancing off the walls.  The moth also struggles with maintaining the same elevation while flying about.  Most flights have something of a decaying trajectory.

This morning, the moth released from the kitchen ceiling and spiraled down alongside my shoulder, fluttering, as I carted my first cup of coffee toward the sofa.  

Okay.  Not a home invasion.

More like entertainment.

—Mitchell Hegman