Wednesday, August 12, 2015

My Spider

There's this spider in our window.

It was just a small spider, at first. Long, spindly legs emerging from a dark, bulbous body--unpleasant to look at, but probably not deserving of the hate it has received. I hate this spider more than I should. I hate it more than my job, I hate it more than my ex, I hate it more than people who change lanes in intersections and then slow down to fifteen miles per hour under the speed limit. Every time I see this spider, my hatred for it grows exponentially. I often contemplate lifting the window and drowning him in raid and maybe a little fire, and would readily carry out my threat, if not for the off chance that it would scuttle away, and find some way to hide in our house.

It occupies our small kitchen window, this spider, carefully nestled between the screen and glass, so that if we were to open the window, we would expose ourselves to it. 

My first encounter with it was late in the morning on a Saturday. It had spun its careful little web between the two "walls," and, while still small, was patiently waiting for its trap to be sprung. I snubbed my nose at it, and continued washing the dishes, trying not to think about the endings that would be faced in that web.

Later that night, I saw it again. A firefly had stupidly wandered in past the screen, and had flown at exactly the wrong angle at exactly the wrong time of night and enticed exactly the wrong type of attention he had been hoping to attract. As my spider spun, the bug flailed desperately against the threads, flashing his last means of communication in a final attempt at rescue. Around, and around, and around he spun, how close must he be to the thing's face? Did his exoskeleton crack as its fangs sunk in? I kept the window closed.

Several days later, my spider had grown. Its abdomen had swollen, and now ended in a visible point at the end. Each of those long, spindly legs were connected with a small ball of tendons and blood--or whatever passed as such. A few more gray, muted bodies now lay wrapped in their cocoons, although none as large as its first attack.

A newcomer had joined in the mix. Small, orange, but otherwise strongly resembling My Spider. Same long, thin legs, same bulbous, sagging abdomen, laden with threading. He had found a place of plenty, and was quick to establish a small section of the window for himself, brandishing a few, small husks of his own. 

He was quicker to hang with the firefly.

It is now fat and slow, this spider. Its abdomen is dully spotted, and its legs can now easily wrap around prey that once had to be handled with the caution and precision of a crane operator. It will die someday, hopefully due to exposure to the elements, or perhaps by another, larger spider that has decided to impose upon the lovely little safe haven it has found. Perhaps soon. 

Two new spiders have moved into the window. Small, bulbous bodies, with long, spindly legs...