THIS Is Why We Can't Co-Exist

Let the record show that Mrs. HM is a murderer. She will not suffer a house spider to live. Not in her Mansion, not on her watch. Nope. A spider is an invader to be dealt with. The wages of invasion are death.

I would never needlessly kill an outdoor spider. That's nature. Spider turf. Even on the porch. I don't live on the porch. I don't sleep on the porch where a spider might crawl in my open mouth while I'm sawing logs, nor in my ear canal or nostril. Carry on, outdoor arachnids. I have no business with you today. Or any day. Even when I drag my face though your inconvenient webs stretched across the walkway to the garage.

Tuesday, I was a bit preoccupied, needing to make a doctor appointment for my six-month blood work and prescription refills, and also needing to call my credit union about an imminent financial transaction concerning Pony House. I reached into my purse, sitting there on the kitchen counter beside the sink, to take out the checkbook for a deposit slip.

YIKES!

A spider ran up the edge of the bank envelope I had wedged beside my checkbook! Up over the side of my purse, and onto the counter SOMEWHERE!

No. That just won't do! I will not have a spider living in my purse! No siree, Bob! It was not a round spider, with legs branching out like wagon wheel spokes. It was a long spider. With four legs forwards, and four legs back. Not a hairy spider, but not smooth, either. Kind of velvet-looking. Dark brown, close to black. 

Sweet Gummi Mary! I HAD to find that spider! For the express purpose of KILLING HIM! I caught a glimpse of him as he skittered from the under-purse area to a pack of peanut butter crackers. I keep them on the counter, and every two days I put a little 4-pack into a baggie to take along in T-Hoe. My lupper has been coming later and later, around 4:00-5:00. While on my travels, I sometimes eat two peanut butter crackers if my stomach demands a deposit. This pack had four of the original eight 4-packs left. Enough cover for a spider to hide under. 

I grabbed a paper towel and went around the counter towards the kitchen table. For a better killing angle. I lifted the cracker pack, and off skittered the spider! Under a manila envelope holding some Pony papers. DANG IT! I went back around the counter, and lifted the manila envelope. That spider darted into a stack of regular envelopes, the mail from Saturday that I had not yet sorted, seeing as how we got no mail on Sunday or Monday.

Great. There were 4-5 envelopes there. No bills, or I'd have already dealt with them. On top was some junk mail from Direct TV. I didn't care what was under it. I smashed down on the stack. Waited. I didn't see any movement. I started lifting off one envelope at a time. 

AHA! There was the spider, kind of stuck to the third envelope down. Taking no chances, I jammed the paper towel down on him, pinched it, and opened it up to look.

GOT 'IM!

Yes. The spider was all curled up, just like The Pony enlightened me, having apparently lost his hydraulic leg-moving system. Into the wastebasket waiting below the counter, in the opening left for a dishwasher.

Good riddance to bad company.