My husband is a collector of stray animals. Not the usual puppies and kitties, though. He brings home frogs, snakes and just yesterday an injured butterfly. It is a very beautiful monarch with big orange and black wings, but it cannot fly and apparently it likes Joel. He said it hung out in his work truck all day yesterday and even sat on his hand the whole time he was driving home. So, he gets home and decides that Randy the butterfly (don't ask me how he came up with the name - the frogs are always named after the street that they are found on) gets to roam free around our apartment. I am so not cool with this and I insist on a cage. After much debate, "But he can't even fly!" I win and he is put into one of the old frog tanks. Only after Joel has researched what and how to feed it and succeeded in feeding it some sugar water. I have to admit, it was pretty cool to watch it eat. But, I could only picture myself getting up in the middle of the night to get a drink and stepping on the stupid thing or having it crawl onto Oliver and get put right into his mouth, where everything else winds up. So now we have three tanks set up in our little living room - two giant (and nasty looking) marine toads, a Fowler's toad, named Einstein, and Randy the butterfly.
Life would be so boring without my darling husband!