I thought all the Monarchs had eclosed,  but found this poor little girl in the small potted fuchsia on the corner of the patio. I thought at first that her wing was just rumpled, but it’s not; it’s deformed, and one of her legs doesn’t work. She can flutter, but not fly.

Even if I had a wing to put on her, I’m not sure it would work because her wing is atrophied so close to her body. I can’t kill her, and I couldn’t just leave her out there to starve to death, so I brought her in and made her a house. I gave her a potted philodendron and a rough stick to climb. I can give her fresh cut flowers as long as they last, and then she can drink the same kind of nectar that MLBs get. I can make her Mean and Pinchy’s Old Tyme Old No. 7 Butterfly Booze, too. Assuming she lives. I’ve never tried to keep a pet butterfly before. I think it’s wrong to cage a flying thing, but she can’t survive on her own, so I’m going to try. Her name is Sarah Jane.