Todays spider incident, in totality, is minor and the spider small but despite size of said spider and trauma level of said incident, it left me feeling cold.
As I closed the front door he was there, up-stage centre slowly moving down (towards my face – obviously. See earlier posts) The reason for his slow descent was because he only had 3 legs plus a stumpy one. Meaning he would be a T43 in the Paralympics. (Although this remains unconfirmed as classification is based upon the presumption the subject species would ordinarily have 2 legs).
The conclusion I have drawn from this is not that he is a poor outcast from both human and spider worlds (spider society being well-known for its harsh approach towards its less able members of society) inhabiting that strange place between, revered and shunned by those who should take pity. No. My conclusion is that he is a bad-ass fighter spider. That despite his size and appearance he is one of the deadliest, meanest and most underhand arachnids you will ever have the misfortune of meeting. He lost each of his legs in a battle to the death, he left one limb down but the others (dramatic pause) were left for DEAD. Dead bad dead.
And he lives on my front door. Brilliant. My ass is grass. (and he is the lawnmower).
And he lives on my front door. Brilliant. My ass is grass. (and he is the lawnmower).
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