Thursday, May 21, 2009


There are no brown recluses in California. I've lived in the heart of recluse-dom and never encountered one. Black widows we got, though, in spades, though I haven't seen one here yet.


So I'm checking my email and the cat bowl starts whining that it's out of water and the pump's running dry. I unplug the fountain-the italics will make sense here in a second-and go fill it. I return, fiddle with the dome until it sits right, then go to plug in the fountain. Huh, there's a dark blob on the bottom edge of the outlet plate. cat poo? no. dust bunny? no. what is- HOLY SHIT HUGE SPIDER. I call The Boy, who comes grudgingly* in.
The Boy: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! is that a black widow?
The Boy: are you sure?
Me: uh...yeah. pretty damn hard to confuse a spindly shiny black little-head-giant-teardrop-abdomen with THE SPIDER OF FUCKING DEATH. (I am dramatically re-enacting this part. I just said yes.)
The Boy: holy shit that's big.
Me: Yeah. don't kill it yet I want to get a picture. the cats seem to have kidnapped my little card reader thing (it is moments like this when I wish The Beast were still alive.) so I can't post the picture I took, which is probably OK because it wasn't the greatest of photos. Anyway. IT. WAS. BIG.

and now, I have to try to sleep...with two thoughts in my head.
1) how the hell did Monster Spider get in my house?
2) where the hell are his buddies?

*I am a cool cucumber when it comes to spiders outside my house. in the great outdoors, I am even fine as long as said spider stays off my person. (....and as long as I don't walk face first into a freakin' three-foot-wide garden spider web.) In my house, however, I am your stereotypical squeaky shivery omggetitoffgetitoffkillitkillitkillitkillitkillit girl climbing on chairs. Thus it is usual for The Boy to just say "so kill it," before eventually relenting and saving me from the horrible beast. I'm sure he's confused as to how exactly I made it through Entomology. (simple. Entomology =/= Arachnology.)