“I am banning you from the house!” I told him, sternly. “You are going outside and you are not coming in again. Not ever! Do you even understand the word never?”
He gazed back at me balefully and walked purposefully towards the front door from which I had just ejected him.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” I hollered, with as much authority as I could summon in the circumstances (I was still in my dressing gown and slippers, with tousled hair and unbrushed teeth). He kept on moving, completely disregarding me, so
I shut the front door on him. Through the kitchen window, I could just about pick him out scuttling round the side alleyway, clearly intent on trying out a new mode of entry.
Please don’t fret, I haven’t thrown Mr B out of house and home; he is still happily ensconced in his armchair, telling me how he would have dealt with our Unwelcome Visitor and why his methods are considerably more effective than mine. If
only because, once he has rid us of them, there is no way they will ever return.
I came across him (the Unwelcome Visitor, not Mr B, please don’t be
silly) in the shower this morning. I very nearly trod on him which would have been incredibly traumatic for us both. It is difficult, indeed, to decide which of us would have been the more traumatised. I thanked my lucky stars for the two cataract operations
which meant that at least I spotted him before entering the shower; in the old short-sighted days, things would almost certainly have been disastrously different.
sized him up (he was extremely large), I trotted downstairs to find the means of removing him from the shower, taking a moment to inform the Delightful Donna (who had arrived to look after Mr B ) of my discovery. She had had a similar experience one day last
week, I remembered - could it have been the same intruder, we wondered? Although I had found a dead body on the living room floor which I reckoned might have been the one she had seen. Donna said she was sure my spider (I presume you must have guessed by now?)
wouldn’t be as large as the one she had seen which was apparently the size of a tarantula. I took this as probably being a slight exaggeration but then I didn’t actually see what she saw.
Mr B’s ill-health has meant that I have had to develop all manner of skills that I never needed before because he was always there, the strong and dependable type, to deal with whatever came up. My methods, it is true,
differ from his in many ways. When it came to dealing with spiders in showers he invariably resorted to quite barbaric methods of disposal. Me, I have become quite an expert with an upturned glass and whatever piece of cardboard I can find to hand. A spider
is, after all, one of God’s creatures - I just wish He hadn’t made them so, well, creepy-crawly. It’s all those legs. I am always afraid of accidentally trapping one or two limbs as I carefully place the glass over the Creepy Crawly One.
Would amputation be better than death at Mr B’s hands - or worse?
Having effected the capture, I proudly took my leggy prisoner downstairs to show Donna.
She conceded it was large but re-affirmed her view that the one she had seen last week had been considerably larger. There being no reliable Appeals Process (as per the current A Levels fiasco) we had to agree that we would probably never know for sure...
Now here’s the thing: the spider season doesn’t generally start until the first or second week of September. Why has the Eight Legged Invasion started so early?
Is this what might be called a pre-emptive strike? Do I need to Be Prepared, like the most vigilant of Cub Scouts?
Is that a spider I see before me.....?