Let me tell you why it’s taken so long to get back to you … it has to do with spiders, so if that bothers you, look away, look away now.
Good. Let me tell you what it takes to keep spiders in your house.
What? You don’t? Why not? They do a good job, keep the critters under control, save the warm-blooded critters from mozzies, and the more-important books from silverfish and moths, and they tend not to have bad effects on noses, eyes, ears, so no poisons – and they don’t cost much to keep, either.
This house has a few spiders. Most of them live in the high corners. Usually the big females have the prime spots under the vents or near the slight cracks around doors and windows (see, they know where to be to get those nasties!). And they need company occasionally to, well, you know, make more spiders.
So, over a period of time I watched what happened when I saw a male doing his best to sneak up and make friendly with the BIGGEST female spider in the house. And he was the smallest.
Huge, this lady is. And she has a large territory. And this poor little guy was moving in, slow, slow, slower. And occasionally he’d drop off in a mad rush and hit — the bath. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a little spider try to get out of a receptacle with slippery sides. They usually fail. And then die. Or get washed down the drain. But he was putting in so much effort, so I couldn’t let that happen.
What did I do to rescue a spider?
Simple. I put dental floss from the shower head and dangled it on the floor of the bath and walked away (yes, spidey was at the far end; I’m not that brave).
Next visit to the room had him back up close to Big Momma’s domain, tickling her long, long, long front legs. He was jerky – was that a leg missing a joint? Or maybe even two legs missing a joint? Doesn’t he know what happens to the boys when they fail to present the ‘strong’ side?
Oh, well. This would be over quick.
Next day, and he’s still there, still with two legs shorter than optimal.
The next week, and he’s still there, still tickling, still pushing his puny luck, getting crinkled and skinny.
How many days? Eighteen days it took, and then he let himself fall into the bath, slow, dangling, sliding along the bottom. Laid there like a bit of rank dental floss. Not much left of the poor thing.
And that was the end of him
(I think someone may have assisted his journey at this stage).
I thought that was the end of it, thought he’d failed such a massive task. However, a relatively short time later, and Big Momma changed location slightly, pulled in some extra camo, and made little silk sacs.
Patience got him what he wanted – I wonder if he died with
a smile on his face?
I wonder if there was any remorse on her part?