You’d think I’d have learned my lesson after what happened to poor old Homer and Herodotus. But nooo, I had to go and write about the happy little caterpillar who found its way to my kitchen windowsill and spent the past week munching my geranium to shreds. I celebrated his presence the night before last, and then all day yesterday he was nowhere to be seen. Mysterious, I thought, but honestly I wasn’t searching too hard.
Well, this morning I found him: curled up sideways in the dirt in the bottom of the pot. Poor little thing. He thought this was a friendly place. Little did he know he had entered the Caterpillar House of Doom. If caterpillars could write there’d be a cautionary chalk mark on our doorpost right now, I’ll bet.
Can You Tell She Doesn’t Watch Much Television?
Our Big Cross-Country Trip
Hold the Spam, Please
Scrambled Eggs Are Calling My Name
For My SoCal Readers: Notice of Missing Teen