Does anyone know a good lawyer?

I woke up yesterday to find that the spiders eggs were no longer eggs.  The nest had been obliterated, and there were several little black dots scrabbling around the ceiling.  One was having a tremendous amount of fun sliding up and down a strand of web.  I was glad I hadn’t swept them into the bin – they were cute.

And so I passed a happy morning.  It wouldn’t be plain sailing (let’s take a moment to appreciate boat-related humour), but somehow me and the new arrivals would get by just fine I decided.  They’d learn not to web in front of doors and drawers, and I’d learn to not crush them with a damp cloth in a frenzied moment.

That afternoon, when I was considering a nap (one of the great joys of days off in the week.  Or days off in general.) I thought I would check on the little mites.  But they weren’t there.  Not one of them.  It was like they had never been there but for the shell of the nest.

I know this does not look good for me.  I have a record and no alibi for the day in question.  I’d even publicly mused on destroying them, and then been encouraged to do so by others (would that count as diminished responsibility?  Or would I at least have company in the dock thanks to incriminating Facebook comments?)

At least there is no actual forensic evidence.  No bodies means no crime, right?  They could have just decided that they liked the look of the boat next door better.  It’s certainly possible.  But I’ll be keeping my passport on me just in case the authorities that investigate arachnid atrocities decide to take a closer look at the case and I need to make a hasty exit to sunny Mexico.  (Whilst also maintaining my innocence.  Fleeing the country is in no way an admission of guilt.  Honest.)

This blogpost was brought to you by ‘Heartbreak Road‘ by Darius Rucker.



Do two wet wipe massacres equal genocide?

I found this on the ceiling of my bedroom a couple of days ago:

It is not just an accumulation of dirt and debris due to my lack of dusting (though it probably wouldn’t be there if I did a little more of that.  Any of that.)  It is a little nest of spider eggs.  (Do spiders have nests?  A little bit of pre-blogging googling might have answered this question and spared you this tangent, but I didn’t and now I’m in full blogging flow and don’t want to open another window.)  This means soon, there will be dozens of mini spiders scuttling about the place, and this has left me in a very difficult position.

I tolerate some spiders in my home, because they catch midgies and it’s quite frankly too much effort to hunt down every single one for re-housing.  So a chosen few  who have a good track record in catching annoying insects and making symmetrical webs get to stay.  But I don’t want dozens of them knocking about.  Even if they are small and generally useful.

Looking at the structure around the nest (I’m sticking with ‘nest’.  Who needs google and possibly accurate terminology?), it would be difficult to just move them without doing irreparable damage (that fine white webbing is surprisingly tough).  So the choice before me is utter destruction, or welcoming in a few more eight-legged friends (well, acquaintances) into my home.

I didn’t feel good after the massacre of 2015.  But not so bad that I have ruled out a second spider atrocity.  Is it murder if they are still eggs?  Is it worrying that I am continuing to target one particular species in a marina full of wildlife?  Maybe I should distract myself from the impending spider invasion by trying to rid myself of the aggressive swans?  And if I get the wet wipes out again this year, it starts to look suspiciously like an annual cleansing event.  Do I really want to be that person?

But I don’t want to be the person who can’t open her wardrobe for fear of disrupting the many, many webs.

This blogpost was brought to you by ‘Moon River‘ by Frank Sinatra.