His name is "Schatz"--which is a particularly adorable German endearment--and he is probably the ugliest moth I've ever seen. And I grew up in the South. I've seen plenty.
I first met this new special someone about three hours ago. He flew into my room and settled on my lamp, mindlessly fluttering around the bulb, about an inch away from burning himself to a cinder. He's big, but not big enough to make as much noise as he was making. He managed to hit the lamp so hard--again and again and again--that it swung in place, creaking and turning my room into a disco. I was on Skype with Linda at the time, and I told her about the moth and she suggested that I name it.
My response was: "Hopefully he'll fly away on his own before it comes to that."
Well, it didn't turn out that way. I decided to shoo him out of my room, as I've done with countless moths before. Moths aren't dangerous or even very dirty, they're just kind of ugly. I knew this. So I approached slowly, cupping my hand, and murmured to him in this random and (hopefully) soothing mix of French and German. No English. Apparently English is just not a moth-seducing language.
I finally caught him, after many failed attempts (he's surprisingly fast, for how big he is). I held him out, offering him the beautiful night air, still murmuring in near-gibberish. He flew away. I smiled and went back to studying.
About thirty seconds later I heard a familiar *binkbink creakcreakcreak binkbink*. That "bink" is what it sounds like when he hits the lamp. I knew, without even looking, that my new friend was back.
At this point I looked up at him and said "Ehrlich?" which is German for "Honestly?" or "Really?" I said to him, "Schatz, du musst jetzt gehen." "Darling, you gotta go now." I stood, captured him in my hands again--easily this time--and tossed him gently out the window.
He came back in. I threw him back out. Wash, rinse, repeat.
After about the fourth or fifth time, I threw him out (no longer so gently) and quickly closed the windows. He clung pathetically to the outside of the window, stretching his little legs, and I swear, if moths could cry he would be crying. I don't know what his obsession is with my room, but he really wanted back in. I let him hang for a few minutes (oooh bad pun, nice) before finally giving in and opening the windows.
He's currently hanging out behind my bed, not making any noise or flitting annoyingly in my face, so I finally decided to name him. He's Schatz. He's okay where he is. Plus, he's too high for me to reach.
Hopefully he will indeed fly away on his own before the end of the night, because i don't want him to hang pathetically on the outside of my window when i close them before I hit the sack. I don't close them all the way, but I doubt he'd be able to find the crack to freedom even if he wanted to.
And, apparently, he really doesn't want to.
tschüss!
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