Back when my cat Chicken was alive, I used to hoist her on my shoulder and we would go around the house hunting spiders. Chicken loved spiders. I’d say, “Chicky get the spider!” And she’d start purring and smack a spider with her little paw. Then she’d jump down on the floor and eat it.
We had fun, but Tiger, my girlfriend, didn’t like it. She says spiders in the house are good luck and you’re not supposed to kill them. Don’t tell her I finally offed the one in my office that kept spinning a web around my alarm clock. Annoying. Besides, it was probably one of those poisonous brown recluses.
Obviously, I’m not much of an entomologist, but I wonder about these spiders. What happens to them in the winter? Do they just grow and grow and grow and then die when it gets cold? Do they lay eggs before they die? And why are the big ones by the compost? Are they eating the worms?
That’s the thing about nature. It makes you wonder. And takes your mind off other things, like the economy and the woman who could be president. Gotta love the spiders.