Standard procedure for me when encountering a bug indoor is to break out my official Bug Transport Vessel (a paper cup adorned with ample warnings it’s a BTV, and should not be used as a beverage container). I then cajole/entice/force said bug into the BTV, and proceed to relocate it out of harm’s way. Rather, out of human harm’s way. It could be shortly after I move a bug outdoor some lucky avian gets themselves a tasty snack, courtesy of yours truly.
Anyway, shortly after starting my current job, I came across an odd-looking moth on a wall of the office. I believe it was an Army Cutworm moth (interesting article about it being on bears diets HERE), and I had never seen one before, so I snapped a few pictures.
In the process I told our then-receptionist of the odd looking mop-top moth. She promptly rolled up a magazine and killed it while I was retrieving the BTV. I was devastated, feeling guilty for pointing him out to his ruthless killer.
That lunch I was inspired to write the following, an obituary of sorts, thus cementing my already growing reputation as one strange fellow.
Born Edward DeMoth, everyone soon started calling him Mop because of his wig-like head covering. As a young larva, Mop soon distinguished himself as different because of his unrelenting curiosity, and his incessant exploring.
But he was best known for his research on food nutrition, culminating with the now famous “Comparative nutritional analysis of rotten Pears vs. overly ripe Bananas”, which was published with much acclaim in Moth’s Monthly.
He may have come from humble beginnings, but Mop achieved much in his life. Forsaking the traditional pursuit of bright lights (often accompanied by electrocution), Mop concentrated on understanding the world around him, and applying what he learned for the betterment of all his kind. Self taught, he eschewed structured learning, deriding it as too limited in scope and vision. In addition to his published work, Mop often spoke at large gatherings. He dealt with subjects crucial to everyday moth survival, such as The danger of the sole and Swatter:fact or myth. He was also the first to recognize the dangers of a rolled up newspaper.
But perhaps his crowning achievement had to do as much with philosophical concerns as his study of physical concerns. He spoke at length of moral and ethical questions pertinent to the moth community at large. Tolerant of others, he recognized the similarity moths shared with butterflies, and campaigned relentlessly for an end to The Great Strife (ed. Note: The Great Strife started countless generations ago when a branch of the species decided to opt for garish and vivid coloring as opposed to the tried and true gray and brown).
He maintained the two camps could benefit from sharing ideas and pooling their resources. Sadly he never lived to see any improvement in relations between the two.
His life was struck tragically short while beginning his latest project: a study on friction, specifically as it related to moths ability to cling to vertical surfaces. Miscalculating terribly, he opted to begin his research indoors, in a nondescript office in a small strip mall. Details of his demise are sketchy, but the remains indicate a tremendous blow basically flattened Mop like . . . well, like a bug.
He is survived by his 85 children, 247 grandchildren, and a grateful community who will surely miss his familiar head covering, infectious enthusiasm, and the joyous way he embraced life.