Jessica McFarland

Last night a spider the size of a mouse sauntered across the floor, casual as you please.

It was quickly caught, barely fitting into the largest glass in the kitchen, and released into the garden. Hopefully it cherishes its freedom enough to never ever set foot in this house again.

I use the passive form of the verb ‘to catch’ because I didn’t do the catching myself. I would have, but only after the requisite amount of screaming and shivering had been achieved. Really! I was going to let it go myself. But having my boyfriend do it was just quicker.

Mind you, I wasn’t always so nice to spiders. With maturity, I have developed the opinion that non-human creatures, like humans, have the right to a full life, one that doesn’t end in being smashed under a book. (These rights are suspended in wartime, of course, such as in the on-going Formic Wars in the kitchen.)

Plus, spiders are predators, and can supposedly keep the small, annoying insect population in check (though I have yet to see a spider chow down on an anthill). So although I don’t like them, I recognise their right to life and set them free whenever possible.

Didn’t use to be that way though. I used to live in a basement flat in Seattle that was totally overrun with spiders. Big ones, little ones, mid-sized ones. Under the bed, in the laundry, in the windows. Come to think of it, I don’t know how I survived there as long as I did. I didn’t even develop arachnid-like superpowers, which is, in hindsight, disappointing.

There was one in particular that probably would have eaten me, had I not taken evasive action. I’ve scoured my hard drive for the story, which I wrote down, but unfortunately I can’t find it. (If any of you are hard core fans, you may remember.)

I had been away for a couple of weeks, came home, and took a hot bath. While still in my towel, I found a spider the size of a VW Rabbit perched on the dust ruffle of the bed. I was alone and terrified. I sprayed it with poison and it didn’t die. I sucked it up with the vacuum hose and it barely fit. It was one of those fancy vacuum cleaners with a transparent canister (Why? Why do these things exist?) and I saw the corpse slowly decaying there for weeks. Ick.

So yeah, these days I don’t kill spiders. But I used to. Rationally, I know that I shouldn’t kill them. But the main thing actually stopping me from doing it is knowing how gross the remains will be. And letting it stay in the house is not an option. Therefore, I must get over my dislike enough to set them free, and pray that they never ever come back.