Spiders
September 29, 2006
Global warming, drought, rising sea levels, the threat of more Al Gore feature-length documentaries. All of these are clearly big concerns for our time and threaten the lives of the next generation.
But the worst part about the longer English summers is the size of the spiders now. As the season nears its end, they are coming inside. I mean really making themselves at home. They are getting in my clothes, my shoes - everywhere.
The other night I went upstairs to bed about half midnight and found one in the bathroom. It was a good couple of inches across. The spider that is, not the bathroom. Anyway, I closed the door and went downstairs to get a cup and a card to catch it.
When I returned to the bathroom it was gone, or at least I couldn’t see it, so I started a search and rescue (that’s rescue, not destroy, because unprovoked killing isn’t right)* which involved me ransacking the bathroom in the small hours of the morning because I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I found it.
There is no quiet way to ransack a bathroom. Benjamin Franklin said that.
I didn’t find the spider, despite leaving no moisturiser unturned or towel unshaken. I simply put the plugs in the sink and bath, shut the door tight and went to bed. Of course, this wasn’t without the feeling that he had snuck out while I was scouting around the Oil of Olay bottles. I imagine he was waiting behind the door, knowing that I would return, as I always do, with a cup and a greeting card**. Having kids means you always have lots of party invites around and they are perfect for catching spiders.
I think – I THINK – that spiders just get bigger and bigger until the food runs out and they die. Well, the food ain’t running out. This lingering summer means they are growing very large in size and number. The crannies (note to self: check nooks) of This Is This House are literally crawling with them and I am wondering just how big these fuckers have to get before I start calling the RSPCA instead of the tried and tested cup and card method.
Sure, it’s card and cup today, but tomorrow it’ll be mixing bowl and Sunday Times.***
*I am pretty strict about this point, being a vegetarian and everything. I have caught a live mouse in our house using only my wits and a box before setting the rodent free outside. I think this payback for the bloodmoney spent by my two bloodthirsty psychopaths cats, who would probably kill me if they thought they could get away with it.
** The card is because of the point above. I bet the spiders think I am soft. They probably have a running joke that the cards I get are not only to trap them, but they have sentimental messages in them like: “Dear Mister Spider, sorry you’re leaving” and they signed by the whole family (not the cats, obviously)
*** I am quite sophisticated, and always have a mixing bowl and a copy of the Sunday Times to hand.
———
“You don’t understand your power over the common man,” said Alistair Campbell.
The words seemed to echo endlessly around their cell. Digging a tunnel had proved fruitless and oddly phallic. Finding a vein had been the laborious task ahead, but they opted to forge ahead while singing “We Are The Champions”.
9 comments
Eeeek, the spiders.
There is one in my bathroom at the moment. It is medium-large, fat-bodied, short-legged, and generally appears in the same ceiling corner above the air vent, where I suspect it of squatting. Every time I switch the light on it freezes, looking panic-stricken. I feel quite sorry for it and it is respecting my personal space so I’ve left it to its own devices, but if it was in my bedroom I would have to catch it (martini glass* + Mr Men book**) and put it out before I went to sleep.
*for the leggier gentleman spider
**creates relaxing environment for spider en route to garden; also retro-chic
Katy – NO – you can’t leave it to its own devices. There are fabrics in your bathroom, and clothes with pockets.
Also, I’m guessing Mister Messy.
What IS it about spiders?
I loathe them – yet there’s no reason to! I blame it on genetics – my father hates them too – he can even hear them walking on the walls! A ’skill’ I’d NEVER wish to inherit!
I think denial is perfectly acceptable in this case. If you pretend they’re not there – it’s easier.
And no – I can’t do the catching-humanely stuff. I have to whack them – and pretend I can’t hear the crunch!
If you live in a mess then you don’t notice them!
Had to clear out Mothers garage a couple of years ago in North Wales. There were huge arachnids living behind a cupboard. I collected them in a jar for relocation, a receptacle which they can’t normally climb out of. However they used each others legs and bodies as step ladders to good effect. The question is why are they scary despite being effectively harmless?
*gingerly checks pockets of bathrobe*
All clear.
I hated them until I did the Friendly Spider Course at London Zoo. All spiderphobes should go. It is life-changing.
It is Mr Happy, in fact, but Mr Messy was a pretty good guess. You have obviously seen my desk at work.
Katy,
You have obviously seen my desk at work.
No.
But isn’t it just a little weird that I knew there were fabrics in your bathroom?
Hmmm.
T’Editor: It is exactly that resoucefulness that gives me the heebeebejeegeebies.
I hope said spider was so touched by your compassion that he has given up incarcerating and eating flies
My current beau (not bun) has amassed eight million brownie points already (in the three years I have known him) for scooping up (without glass and card) big bastard spiders which scuttle across my living room in the palm of his hand. Oh, and not only that, he takes them out and places them gently under a plant in the garden.
That’s what I call a REAL man. My cats hate him too for spoiling their sport.
Leave a comment. Play nice. I will turn this blog around.