This brazen little bastard was flying around the living room on Sunday morning. My super kung-fu reflexes decimated it before I could ask it any questions.
I'm pretty sure the mister brought him in last weekend with a load of clothes stored at his mom's house. He came home happy that he found some clothes that still fit tucked away in a forgotten closet (I guess that's a suburban thing). How was he to know that he was bringing doom and destruction into the abode?
I am obsessively over-cautious about wool-eating pests. Everything woolie I own is stored in either a space-saver bag or in a bin. The exception is whatever I have for a work in progress- that's out. Lately I've, um, had quite a bit in progress. In springtime, I wash and carefully seal up all my sweaters for storage. I have sachets of lavender and cedar chips in every nook I can. I don't use mothballs since a) they are carcinogenic and b) they smell terrible. All the window screens are checked for tears and holes every spring. Why, Mothra, WHHHHYYYYY?
It's just a waiting game now to see what the chosen larval meal might be. I have a bad feeling that it's something expensive. Something cashmere.