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.)
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