Moths

Sometimes we have home invaders. Besides the spiders I have previously written about, and Pumpkin the witch cat who thinks she owns the place, sometimes moths of varying colors and sizes fly in through a crack in the porch screen that has just recently been fixed. Now that the screen is taut, the sound of the door slamming over my shoulder has a new tone, as in a drum whose skin has been wound tighter. So these moths coat the door and side panel on the other side of the kitchen wall, mumbling 'round the timed light that comes on too late since autumn dropped the sun way down low before eight o'clock. Last night as I was cozily tucking away inside a rose print comforter cocoon a small brown moth flew in but instead of seeking the moon in the form of a side lamp, like most moths would, it continually sought myhead and hair, resting here and there and I could only tell it was there because every so often Rosie beside the bed would cock her eye to face me, roll it around a bit and say small things between the cage bars. So I slept with my moth friend.