An Invasion of Arachnids

Last week, I killed three spiders in my bedroom and another yesterday. It is now a bedtime routine: I put on my nightshirt, turn on the TV, and prepare for an hour or so of entertainment. Then a familiar shadow moving on the wall or the doorframe, just enough to draw my attention.

Blammo! with a shoe or a tissue box.

I killed a black marauder (not its name; I don’t know what they are) in the bathroom. It was enjoying a siesta on the paper roll when I reached over… That one ended up going on a flume ride.

A delicate cellar spider died in the shower under mysterious circumstances. (Note: “Mysterious circumstances” connotes “a full-blast faucet and a squeamish bather’s feet.”)

Today I surveyed the garden – the delicata are coming along nicely, but the tomatoes are lazy. Afterwards, I hopped in the car to do some errands. And banded garden spider was hitching a ride on my thigh.

Immediately I jumped out of the car and started doing the Get-Off-of-Me Dance, complete with brushing my pantleg and yelling “Get off me!” (Which is rather silly, because spiders don’t understand English; they speak Italian sotto voce, naturally.) The spider bungee-corded into the grass.

After regaining my composure, I opened the car-door and began sliding behind the wheel…. The unwanted passenger had cleverly moved to the inner side of my pantleg.

Gah!

(Flashback: Biggest Brother mercilessly refusing to kill spiders for me. I thought he was Being Mean. In hindsight, he was like the drill sergeant forcing the new recruits to toughen up and face the enemy head-on. It was For My Own Good.)

I think it’s time for chemical warfare. After all, I can sympathize with spiders craving a bath and a nice place to sleep. But hijacking my car? No.

Of Spiders and Exploding Toilets

Returning to La Casa de Tontería after more than a week away, I settled to the usual post-vacation routine: doing laundry and evicting spiders. I killed two in my bedroom, drowned one in the shower, and made plans to clear the shed* when the weather cools next week.  Michigan has only one poisonous spider – the brown recluse – but an array of house spiders and wanna-bes.

Exploding toilets are a looming threat. Continue reading

Insects

A cicada is singing in the maple tree. For those unfamiliar with its song, imagine an electronic buzz growing louder until it crackles and suddenly stops. Several years ago, a friend from the UK was enjoying a trip to Stratford, Ontario, when I identified the sound.  Because it was high on an electric pole, she had wondered if it were a problem with a transformer!

August is the time of insects: cicadas, crickets, and spiders.

Every time I work in the garden, tiny crickets leap out of my way. Where there are crickets, there are their hunters, which means I must stroll around the garden before I mow. I haven’t seen any snakes (yet), but yesterday I had to herd toads out of the grass.

Spiders are everywhere.

I suffer a mild case of arachnophobia, so this afternoon I found myself explaining to a neighbor that I yelped because I was startled, not hurt. It was a false alarm anyway: a daddy longlegs isn’t even a spider.*

However, the grass spiders have been weaving their webs throughout the yard, especially at the base of the maple. A bright-coloured orbweaver made the not-so-bright choice of my car’s side mirror as a website.  Let’s not even mention the wolf spider. If you’re really curious, check out this link: Spiders of Michigan. (I double-dog dare you.)

I hate zebra spiders and always have. Sure, they’re harmless, but they love hanging out by the back door and they jump! So if I see them, I’m on alert for them to hitch a ride inside the house.

Inside the House of Nonsense, I generally have three arachnid guests. The main ones are funnel spiders, since they enjoy human habitats just like house sparrows.

Then there are the shiny black spiders that chase down other spiders. Yes, you heard that right. One of the worst moments in my first year at La Casa de Tontería was an evening when I collapsed into a chair after a long day. Then I felt a tickling at my neck and, by the light of the reading lamp, saw a funnel spider run down my shirt. It was followed by a small, determined black spider.**

Yet I continue to live here.

Last but not least is the cellar spider, which I have nicknamed the Bathroom Stalker. These spindly-legged spiders are easy to miss until you’re nekkid and bathing. Then they come creeping down from the ceiling to enjoy the steam from your shower, or climb up the side of the tub to hang out near your head. Because nothing says “relaxing bath”like turning and gazing eyeball-to-eyes with a spider.


*The crane fly that Australians call by the same name, we Michiganians call “mosquito hawk” because of its resemblance to our state bird, erm, insect. They’re harmless but occasionally annoying, like fishflies (mayflies) and midges.

**I see that it’s called a “false black widow.” I haven’t seen a real black widow, nor do I want to see one.

 

La Casa’s Notice of Eviction

I was sitting on the end of the sofa, reading the news and enjoying a cup of iced coffee (black, of course). Then I noticed a spider dangling in midair. Did the usual sweep of the hand to break its thread – and it wavered.

When I moved forward to look closer, I realized it had begun a web encompassing the windowsill over my head, the lamp at my side, and the floor. I was in its web.

No, no, no, arañita. This is MY web, and you’re just taking up space rent-free. It’s time to join your enemy – a spider of a different species – that I confronted yesterday. And the squishable one before that. And the cloud of teeny-tiny hatchlings that were clinging to the siding near the kitchen window.

I don’t like this trend of friendly neighborhood spiders moving in. So as of today, every living thing that’s not me is hereby evicted. (Not you, plants. You can stay. Maybe.)