tiny moths

a potted geranium on our front porch - the kingdom of the Nessyness

It's raining gently this early morning, the air is noticeably cooler - it's beginning to feel like Autumn, like bittersweet. A little later I'll be off, around the corner and just up the street to the tiny gift and home decor store for a day long shift. Miss D will begrudgingly stay home to keep an eye on les Chats. The Kitten Police. And she will greet me when I come home as if I've been away for days with spins and twirls, shut ups ! and mad sweet kisses.

We have been visited lately, inside this old brick house, by a great multitude of tiny moths. So tiny they're nearly impossible to see or at least for the lazy untrained human eye to see but not at all difficult for the wild cats, the tag team hunters - those darn kittens, to see. Oh ! the bouncing and somersaults, the chasing and jumping, the death defying stunts, the slow creeping along the floor as flat and as invisible as can be - the gesticulating and enormously high leaping as if off a giant trampoline as their Mama, kill joy that she is, rushes around behind them drinking glass and postcard (favourite insect capturing devices) in hand desperately attempting to retrieve the tiny moth before it becomes mortally wounded - to set it free on the front porch where it will stay, prone for a moment on the weathered wood, rattled, relieved and catching it's breath and the big fat black velvet chiclet will look down at it as if to say - hmmm yes, it is indeed a tiny moth and then resume his staring off into the unknown distance, as Chiclets are want to do.

Off to walk with my rain slicker, rubber boots and my best girl Missy D.