He entered through the patio door when an unsuspecting victim went out to grill some hamburgers. He had embarked, along with several thousand of his kin, to escape the heat of the Colorado summer and find some solace at elevation as his kind had done for generations. When he saw the open door, he sensed the cool air conditioning. Instinct led him into the greatest battle of his life.
“JOE!!! You let a giant bug in!” shouted the female human. She assumed an athletic primal stance, staggering her legs and crouching down like a wrestler as she prepared to spar with this formidable foe. “Do something Joe!” “I’m cleaning the grill,” shrugged the male human amused by the discord. She implored him to intervene, but he, like the moth seeking cooler temperatures, had his own biologically-imparted prime directive: tend to the grill.
Left to her own devices, she grabbed a dish towel. She held it by one end and fashioned an impromptu nunchuck. With her primal stance she approached the blinds where the moth had sought refuge. “Where is it?” the male human calmly asked as he poked his head in the apartment. “It’s hiding behind the blinds!” shouted the female human.
She began the attack with steady jabs. Starting from her primal stance, she lunged towards the blinds and snapped the dish towel nunchuck before retreating a few steps to observe the damage. After four jabs, she grew more agitated with her male partner. “Damnit Joe! Help me!” “I’m cleaning the grill,” he shrugged.
On the fifth jab and recoil, the moth flew from the blinds briefly before falling out of the air at terminal velocity and landing on the window sill. With a damaged wing, he crawled about looking for an exit.
“He’s crawling!” screamed the female human. For some reason, the crawling was more unsettling to her than the tactically superior flying. He descended another few feet to the vinyl panels on the floor and continued crawling towards the corner behind the couch. “He’s behind the couch!” The female human began moving the couch and looking for her opponent, before accepting defeat.
She raced about the apartment quarantining each room by closing the door. She sat down on a chair far from the moth’s last known location and glared at her partner. He had just finished cleaning the grill and asked “where’d he go?” “He’s behind the couch, it’s too late” said the female in a pout.
The moth was out of sight and out of mind and she forgot her anger until he re-emerged the following day. She sent an exasperated text to her partner, who was at work: “The moth surfaced and is now hiding behind the TV. I’m angry at you all over again.” Then, a few minutes later, as if it would be her last ever communication in this world: “it’s crawling around…”
The male human came home to find the female had adjusted her strategy. She had given up on quarantining every room and focused her efforts on the bedroom, where she had reinforced the closed door by sealing the gaps of the door with a bath towel wedged underneath it. A hand towel is a trusty weapon, but the bath towel is superior for defense. “I’m not giving up the bedroom,” she offered when he raised an eyebrow at the towel on the floor.
The moth was never seen again.