I came home one day to find the traces of your passing. You left behind tiny round black droplets of evidence beside your vandalism. As if deliberate destruction was not enough, you littered too.
It was my home you treaded on. The havoc you wreaked was discouraging, it soured my enthusiasm and left a bitter tang of injustice. Trying to rationalise that it was beyond your comprehension quelled my displeasure only just. It did not change that I was left with a mess to clean up, with damage to repair.
And each day I came home the devastation grew and my excitement wilted. I chased off some of your accomplices, made sure they would not be back again, but you were more elusive. High and low I looked, kept a watchful eye every chance I could but you circumvented my search grids and continued to gnaw at my sanity.
Whether it is a virtue or a vice it is not my position to say, but I am fastidiously diligent. I admit it got a little bit out of hand; it became a bit of a witch-hunt.
In my defense I was protecting my patch, defending the innocent. My tomato plants had done absolutely nothing to you. The gluttonous rate at which you devoured my seedlings was infuriatingly remarkable.
Your appetite however, was your undoing. You grew to such a size that you could no longer hide and when we did finally meet face to antennae I hope your tiny green eyes were as shocked as mine. For a hesitatingly lengthy second I deliberated squishing you, but a worthy adversary deserves respect. I picked you up with two fingers and quickly raced you over to my neighbour’s tomatoes. Whether you eventually morphed into a moth I will never know.