I killed the spider living in my bathroom this morning. I’d left it alone in the corner for days while it ate stinkbugs it caught in its web—it’s October, 90 degrees, and my home has become refuge for anything hiding from the heat.
I was in the shower when I saw it out of the corner of my eye, sleeping I think, in a fresh web stretching from right beneath the shower head to the opposite corner. I was going to leave it there, squishing myself against the far side of the shower, the tile wall freezing cold against my back. It was just a spider.
But then it was an awake spider stretching its tapered, spindly legs. The spider looked at me and I looked at it. It must have interpreted this as an invitation and not a warning because it moved towards me across the invisible bridge it has spent all night building.
I immediately cupped water in my hands and threw it, drenching the web while the spider fell further and further down the yellow tile with each handful of hot water until it reached the tub floor and circled the drain like a cyclone before it disappeared.
A new spider moved in this afternoon, bigger than the previous tenant. It’s fixed itself back in the corner near the door and I think I’ll let it stay there until late autumn when the stinkbugs leave.