The Mammoth Moth I open the door, turn on the light. The moth awakes, startled, spooked. Like an ugly, drunk, pinball butterfly, it flutters and dives and flings itself about. It disappears into the darkness of the bathroom. As luck would have it, I need to shower. I tiptoe to the door, slowly slide my hand around the corner to find the light, ready for a creature in my face. Flip, lights on. No movement, no sound. Nothing on the ceiling, nothing on the walls, nothing behind the door. I step in further to give it one more eye scan - boom! Next to the light. The mammoth doesn’t move a muscle (do moths have muscles?). Clapping, yelling, jumping, none of it works. Fine, you play dead while I jump in the shower. We’re locked in here together now. No way out. Shower done, I fling open the door. Stillness still. What now? I won’t touch it, no way…*lightbulb* The broom. I’ll sweep it out.  There begins the fight. The broom is on the hunt. Not to kill, just to gently herd the moth. A couple minutes of a stooge-like chase ensues. It zigzags from the light to the ceiling to the shower to the wall to the door to the ceiling to my face…and finally lands on the broom bristles. Perfecto!  Now, act quickly. I slowly bring the broom stick down, point it out the bathroom door, and make a bee-line (moth-line?) for the nearest open window. I hold the broom straight out in front of me like a knight in a joust. Get there, get there, get there, get there…yes! I knock the stick against the sill and the mammoth falls 14 stories, or flies, or finds another apartment to torment. I don’t care what it does. The window slams shut.

The Mammoth Moth

I open the door, turn on the light. The moth awakes, startled, spooked. Like an ugly, drunk, pinball butterfly, it flutters and dives and flings itself about. It disappears into the darkness of the bathroom. As luck would have it, I need to shower. I tiptoe to the door, slowly slide my hand around the corner to find the light, ready for a creature in my face. Flip, lights on. No movement, no sound. Nothing on the ceiling, nothing on the walls, nothing behind the door. I step in further to give it one more eye scan - boom! Next to the light. The mammoth doesn’t move a muscle (do moths have muscles?). Clapping, yelling, jumping, none of it works.

Fine, you play dead while I jump in the shower. We’re locked in here together now. No way out. Shower done, I fling open the door. Stillness still. What now? I won’t touch it, no way…*lightbulb* The broom. I’ll sweep it out. 

There begins the fight. The broom is on the hunt. Not to kill, just to gently herd the moth. A couple minutes of a stooge-like chase ensues. It zigzags from the light to the ceiling to the shower to the wall to the door to the ceiling to my face…and finally lands on the broom bristles. Perfecto! 

Now, act quickly. I slowly bring the broom stick down, point it out the bathroom door, and make a bee-line (moth-line?) for the nearest open window. I hold the broom straight out in front of me like a knight in a joust. Get there, get there, get there, get there…yes! I knock the stick against the sill and the mammoth falls 14 stories, or flies, or finds another apartment to torment. I don’t care what it does. The window slams shut.