Yes. Indeed it has.
One of the biggest beefs we’ve had since moving to this fair city hasn’t been with the weather, the cars, the people, no. It’s been the spiders. I suffer from a mild case of arachnophobia which, apparently here, makes me as much a target for spiderly attention as one who hates cats getting all the feline lovin’ in the world.
I had originally thought a truce was formed. See, after finding about 10 different nickel to quarter sized arachnids in my house, I set them free with the understanding that my rule is as follows: If you stay outside, I won’t squash you. But if you step inside my house and, most importantly, I SEE you lurking at me from the ceiling/floor/cupboard/whatever, you are going to die. And I offer no apologies for this policy.
For a while, all seemed right with the world. A few brave spider souls found out the hard (and sometimes POINTY) way that I mean business. But apart from those few, we were blissfully left alone.
Until this past week. Apparently, August/September is breeding season for many of my arachni-foes, most especially the Hobo Spider. And folks, if you’ve never been eye-to-eye with an adult male hobo spider, you’ve yet to experience true terror. Or maybe you have, your mileage may vary, naturally.
So for the last week, I’ve been assaulted by spiders from every conceivable angle. And it’s highly disturbing. I walk outside, spider flings itself toward my face, screaming a tiny scream of rage. On my car? Spider ass waving in the air, looking for an air current upon which to ascend (all the better to wrap around me and nestle in my hair). In the bathroom, washing my hands, as one does, lurking below the lip of the sink and sliding down JUST as I’m reaching to rinse, causing me to yelp and flail about helplessly as I search for an implement of destruction.
The cats are, of course, no help during these times. All they do is point them out, tails flicking, whiskers quivering, plaintive little “mews” of, “Kill it mom. It frightens me.” J, to his benefit, has become He Who Kills Arachnids With Ferocity And Might. Partly because he’s male, partly because he’s quite a bit taller than yours truly. Mostly, because he’s fearless. For that, I adore him.
But, the time has come, as the Walrus said, and I spent this morning, after squashing a particularly HUGE arachnimonster in the sink, looking for ways to stop the insanity. Apparently, I could bug bomb the house (and have to figure out just where I’m going to store 4 cats, 3 rats, and a hamster while this takes place), call an exterminator (and have to contend with icky pesticides that will most likely a) not work and b) make everyone sick as a dog), or pick up some sticky spider traps and hope for the best. While I would love to figure out a way to effectively eradicate every last spider from existence, I do understand that sometimes they’re helpful in keeping down the OTHER bug populations, so it would most likely be better that I try to do the humane thing and trap them.
25 of the stickiest, ickiest, non-toxic traps are winging their way to me as we speak. For a while, I have a feeling this house is going to look like one big spider death trap and I’m fine with that. Really. I just hope that the cats don’t somehow get their tails stuck to the glue (it’s supposed to be really strong). But then, nothing really is going to stop that from happening because cats are cats and will do as cats do.
But me? I’m on the war-path. Spider-foes? You’re going down. And I will laugh as you do.