Those poor moths. They live their short lives in the shadows of their glamorous cousin the butterfly. They live, eat and mate. Then they see the light - the ceiling light that is - are lured by ther pearly glow, only to meet their crisp end in the warm light radiating down. They rest in peace for a few months, cradled by the ceiling light cover, before we humans decide a bit of spring cleaning is needed. We rip away the light covers, are appaled by the insect and small animal detritus which has accumulated, and unceremoniously dump their lifeless remains down the toilet. And we flush. But of course they just tumble and turn in the waters refusing to make the final journey down the pipes. Then along comes boy, raises the toilet seat and proceeds to urinate. Weeing ono those poor little moth bodies. Pummeled down to the depths of the toilet waters by the stream of hot urine, they finaly assent to their final descent.
Oh the undignified death and burial of the humble moth.
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