Sometimes, our cute little townhouse feels like it is on the verge of becoming a zoo. Three humans, two cats, a dog, and two turtles reside here. During our time here, we have also served as a temporary home for many guests. A dozen tadpoles, the mosquito larvae that accompanied these tadpoles, cockroaches trapped in mason jars, a stray cat we found on the highway, and so on. I suppose this is just the natural result of two biology majors coming together under one roof.

Today, I would like to write about one of the guests we have had the honor of caring for in our home. His name was Peter, and he was a monarch butterfly.

You see, one of my roommates is a butterfly entomologist. One of the duties of a butterfly entomologist is to deal with the local monarch fanatics. You see, conservation movements have done an amazing job of informing the public about the plight of these beautiful little guys. In fact, they have probably done their jobs a little too well because they have unintentionally spawned a breed of enthusiasts who do an amazing job of transforming their gardens so that they can be helpful resources for butterflies and also by raising butterflies themselves.

One of these enthusiasts called my roommate in distress. The enthusiast was a sweet old lady with a monarch butterfly who had emerged from its chrysalis deformed. The poor butterfly could not fly. She didn’t know what to do, so she sought out my roommate for help.

My roommate calmed her and reassured her she would do everything she could. When you deal with enough butterflies, you start to realize that these deformities that cause butterflies to die prematurely are fairly common. This would normally just be another deformed butterfly she would have to peacefully put down. But the sweet old lady’s concern had reached her, and my roommate had to bring the butterfly home with her.

Our house became a hospice for our guest, who we called Peter. We put a few branches and leaves in a bicycle basket and let him use it as his room. We fed him a mixture of sugars and proteins. We showed him around the house and brought him out to hang out when we had company over. We protected him from our cats and their curiosity. We even discovered that although Peter could not take flight, he could flap his wings and fall to the floor as gracefully as any other butterfly would have descended.

Alas, Peter did eventually pass away. I like to think we made his short life as comfortable as we could have. I think that image of his slow fall to the ground may be the best metaphor for his experience. He could never fly, but he tried. And that effort gave him his grace.

-Brian Dang