Yesterday on our walk, we passed a car of exactly the same make and colour as ours and Moll ran over to it and jumped up, as if to see if Himself was there. Who’s a clever girl then?
This morning I came into the kitchen to see this MASSIVE moth type thing sitting on the floor, right by my chair. When I say massive, I mean of Dr Who proportions (you can hear imagination revving up here) though it just sat there, apparently dead. I tackled Himself (defence being the best form of attack) for not having noticed it, and he obligingly put it in a jam jar with a perforated cover on top, so it could breathe.
Himself then said, casually, ‘it might have come over with bananas or something and be dangerous. We should take it somewhere.’
Imagination roared into fifth gear and I hid in the kitchen while The Beast of Death was transferred to another larger container and I looked up the RSPCA number before dismissing that as they don’t deal with insects, and they’re the other side of Cornwall.
I suggested we take it to the vet, so we did but they don’t deal with insects either, and the nurse there said we should either ring DEFRA (I don’t think so) or let it go. So as I was feeling terrified and mutinous, Himself let it go in the vet’s garden on the basis that if this thing was poisonous, it could bite a vet, while I skulked in the car with the windows shut, just in case.
I was lambasted for being a wimp, of course, but how would you feel if you were sharing a room (or worse, car) with a huge winged creature with a wing span of 5 or 6 inches, the body the size of Himself’s thumb (and he has BIG hands)? He was the one that said it might be poisonous….
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