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 Powerade5 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.67
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. ↩