In the light of the golden arches from the Maccas across the road, a little house with a sub-prime mortgage sat in the middle of its block.
One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and - pop! - went the US property market. Out of the rubble came a tiny and very hungry economic crisis.
It started to look for some food.
On Monday it ate through one bundle of securitised loans. But it was still hungry.
On Tuesday it ate through one half of the middle management of a mid-tier bank, but it was still hungry.
On Wednesday it ate through the rest of the middle management of the mid-tier bank then ate all the other levels of the bank, but it was still hungry.
On Thursday it ate through one Merrill and one Lynch, but it was still hungry.
On Friday it ate through one emerging market economy, but it was still hungry.
On Saturday it ate through one nest egg, one framing business, one aid program, one maternity leave provision, one camping trip, one Laura's Hot Bake and one nice new pair of Connies (Chuck Taylor All Star Multi Eyelets). That night it had a stomachache!
The next day was Sunday again. The caterpillar ate through one nice greenback, and after that it felt much better.
Now it wasn't hungry any more - and it wasn't a little economic crisis any more. It was a big, fat global economic crisis!
It built a house, called corporate law, around itself. It stayed inside for more than two weeks. Then it nibbled a hole in an amended subclause of a subsection, pushed its way out and...
Boarded a private jet and winged it to the Caymans where it's now lying about in a banana chair drinking pina coladas and barking commands at the help.
* Apologies to Mr Carle and his very lovely caterpillar.
