This past spring I kept caterpillars in a glass jar, occasionally throwing in leaves to ward off starvation. Once they spinned cocoons I placed the jar in our closet, to keep them warm throughout the winter and to hide them from Sibyl. The constant heat made them develop rapidly and one by one the beautiful white moths emerged from their cocoons in the late winter months rather than spring. Inevitably they found their way to our wool clothing; they didn't have to travel very far. Once in while Sibyl found one, nestled in between her wool sweaters. Each time she would mention it to me, perplexed that a moth could survive in winter. Rummaging through the closet one evening, she accidentally found the last one crawling out of its cocoon. She came into the bathroom (where I was plucking unsightly hairs from my body- Sibyl's suggestion, not mine) smirking, and slowly opened her hand in front of me, displaying a crushed white moth. "It was you, you and your revolting kindness toward all inferior creatures." I gasped; I had been checking its cocoon everyday, hoping I could save it before Sibyl found it; she had killed most of the others. She would not let me touch it and immediately flushed it down the toilet before I could grab it from her.