I heard him on the phone. It sounded dodgy. I went into his room but he waved me away, irritated. It was a scam. Someone purporting to be from Paypal. I fell for it, he told the woman at the bank. Poor love. Trust is a good thing, but perhaps a healthy scepticism and a habit of ‘examining all things’ (as Deborah Jenkyns in Cranford used to say), just in case.
I cooked a caterpillar. I found him in my spinach and tomato stir-fry lunch. Another poor love. I never meant to kill him. He was white and puffed up, scorched but not discoloured. His body curled-up in the agony of his decease. Poor, poor love. It quite turned my stomach. R.I.P gentle being. Where you a moth or a butterfly?
