Lady in the Window
I've taken to calling her Julia Flutter. Originally I had dubbed him Julius Flutter, after Julius Caesar, because I like the salad dressing.[1] However, upon further research, it seems most likely he is a she,[2] so I'm calling her Julia instead.
I found Julia on the mean streets of Society Hill, begging for spare change under a brutal noonday sun. She wasn't doing well. One of her wings was significantly damaged, and she was mostly unresponsive in the extreme heat. Taking her for doomed, I commented to myself on the inherent sadness of life, and headed off to grab an iced coffee, because I'm awful with money. I made it about 20 feet before turning back.[3]
So, now I have a rescue. She's a purebred Red-spotted Purple. She may have been caught up in a local underground butterfly-fighting ring, or maybe she was attacked by a bird. We're not sure.[4] She's hanging out on my windowsill drinking all the Powerade[5] and recuperating. From the looks of her wing, it's doubtful she'll ever fly again. In that case, Julia is welcome to stay for as long as she needs.[6][7]
In other news, iPhone cameras are not as good as the hype makes them out to be.[8]
Footnotes
- I know. I know. No need to bring Alton Brown into this.
- Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side.
- Something is wrong with me, I know.
- Technically, there is no we in this scenario. It's just me, and even I'm relatively certain there is no such thing as butterfly-fighting. However, if there were, I like to imagine it as much like bullfighting with tiny capes.
- The store didn't have any Gatorade, and since neither PepsiCo nor the Coca-Cola Company send me a card with money in it each Christmas, I went with what was there.
- I think Limenitis Arthemis Astyanax only live a week or two.
- I'm about 95% sure butterflies don't carry any diseases communicable to humans. I wash my hands a lot anyways. And then I check to see if the stove is off. And then I wash my hands again. And then I check the stove.
- Legal disclaimer: imho.