Disclaimer: I hardly ever write about books. Read them voraciously, write about them rarely. All clear? Good.
This post is going to be about my semi-new pet, somewhat appropriately named Brutus.
Brutus lives comfortably in one of the corners of my bathroom. I believe he is the same spider who used to reside in my shower a few months back. I say believe because: a) I’m too lazy to research life spans of spiders and b) Brutus disappeared for about a month and a half before he appeared in his new location, two weeks ago. He may actually be Brutus II.
Please realize one thing- I cannot reach Brutus. His current home is the corner above my vanity mirror. Also, Brutus and I have a deal.
It stems back from one day back in December when Brutus interrupted my shower. I decided that I would no longer be sharing my shower with this arachnid so I did what seemed logical at the time- I flicked water at his tiny body and longer legs. I hoped that the water would carry him down the wall towards the drain, but that’s not what happened.
(I’m sure you’re probably asking yourself why I didn’t squash Brutus and that’s a good question. I just don’t have a response other than I didn’t want spider guts on anything. Yes, I understand how insane that sounds.)
So, I flicked water at Brutus and instead of him sliding down the shower wall, 4 of his legs became stuck to the wall. Who knew that that was even possible? Not me.
I stared at the now mostly paralyzed spider, as shame and horror spiraled through me. What had I done? Brutus was just trying to live his life. How would I feel if someone did what I did to him, to me?
That day, I told Brutus that if he managed to extricate himself, I would leave him alone as long as he didn’t create any spider babies. He freed himself at some point, and we’ve each kept our own end of the bargain.
Well, I have; who knows about Brutus?