Long Legs and Leaving

Princess Snowbell has luxated kneecaps and is short one vertebra in her spine, but I don't suspect she realizes her shortcomings. Her internal spider gps system leans towards the psychic, her tenacity rivals that of a scout earning a badge. Snowbell wants that spider badge bad.

Watching a dance show that makes my physiognomy weep, this little white minion looks up and cackles. It's that chatter that cats do when observing a victim, perhaps the cat is reciting Henry James as a method of inducing stupor, or maybe the racket is a roster of the intended portion's family history. Something's afoot, achair, aceiling, and upwards gaze reveals a healthy longiddy leggidy brown spotty spider trotting upside down across the ceiling at a fast clip. He is booking. Males are generally slimmer so this gender assumption is most likely correct, as the females are bigger bodied and mean as spit.

Oh frabjous day, croons the cat, and sproings herself up the rolled carpet which is propped against the wall behind the couch. I see her wishing her most heartfelt wish of growing wings in the next fifteen seconds, and I wish I was the fairy godmother to twing her with my wand so she can beat down this invasive bother. Using a bent curtain rod, I thwack at the minniken and it drops ninja like onto one of the wooden masks that hang from the ceiling. Snowbelle has pupils the size of nickels as she watches this ungainly, ineffective swordplay, and is unhappy that I made the spider disappear.

Since last summer, when there was a split in the screen by my bed and spiders entered willy-nilly, I became almost mechanical in my disposal of them. This is because both cats, dear Kai and Snowbelle, would nail the intruders and deposit them ON MY PILLOW. A gift. A prize. A long-legged Valentine. The first one sent me into apoplexy, the second a bit less, and the third was invited to not hog the covers. After a few spiders, sleep seems infinitely more important, and really, the thing only wants to get away and hide someplace. It does not want to bite you or make a nest in your ear. It doesn't even want to be near you.

There are a few spiders, especially the little zebra ones, that will turn and challenge you, waggling those forepaws and clicking their fangs. These endear me with their boldness. One fuzzy rust-colored one was riding on the top of my car, and I blew at it to send it elsewhere. This one, I could see the eyes. It turned to face me and made a small effort of a hop in my direction. Small, not a charge, but a stamping of a foot. I said too bad, bud, and scooted him onto a leafy tract with a paper. Pretty thing, but definite attitude.

Anyhow, the spider in the living room is still alive somewheres, and may reappear this night. This time, I will have Snowbelle harnessed to a pulley on a track in the ceiling so that I can raise and lower her for both our amusement. Really, I will do the job myself, maybe with a broom which is never a good idea for more spiders escape in the broom straws than get squished. Someone should invent a spider swatter that reaches ceilings and in corners, that has a cup to catch the thing as it inevitably drops.

The end of the day, there is soup on the stove and a pillow for my head. Good night, sleep well.