Recently, Noah, we found a moth on the floor of the bedroom. It had seemingly died of natural causes. I say this not as a veterinary professional, simply because of the fact that it was perfectly preserved and appeared otherwise undamaged.
Your mummy and I try our best to expose you to as much of the world as possible, so you and I laid down in front of the moth and I showed you its body. Whilst gently pulling the wings, I explained that they use these to fly. I told you about how moths like lightbulbs at night time and how they love to eat holes in clothes (those are strictly the only three facts I know of moths). The whole time, you watched and listened, open-mouthed.
I went to to explain that the moth was not moving any more because it was dead. You waited then said, very softly, and with the deference the moment required, "Moff. Dead." I agreed.
Then we flushed the thing.
Fast forward about a week and a butterfly broke into our house and was terrorising the living room. We rushed to get you so you could see it before we let it out, but Happy got there first. Your mummy took this brilliant video. In the middle of the video, he uttered the words that had troubled him the previous week:
Moff. Dead.
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