October 23rd, 2008
Weaving Home
Poor Charlotte. She probably never saw this coming. She probably thought things were going just fine, then, out of the blue, the house gets turned upside-down.
Charlotte is the fourth resident of our house, and the last one who moved in, doing so about a month after Steph, Lilly, and I. She’s an ideal housemate: Quiet. Always tidies up her messes. Likes just hanging out. And I don’t think Steph would mind me telling you, she has a great set of legs.
This, incidentally, is Charlotte.
Some may not abide a creature such as this on their back porch, but, considering the volume of mosquitoes in our yard, I’m ok with it. I wasn’t even bothered when she produced a gigantic, slimy egg pouch (this is how we determined her to be a girl, by the way) which is still suspended on a strand of her old web, like the world’s most disgusting golf ball, frozen mid-flight.
So I did not want to make Charlotte feel unwelcome by any means, but something had to be done about that back storm door. We inherited a back storm door that could not close properly. The top hinge — which, like the rest of the door and frame, is made out of the cheapest aluminum — had shattered into pieces. (I now realize that this door had been “conveniently” propped open every single time we walked through the house before buying it, including when we did the home inspection. Nicely done, previous owners.) The “V-shape” created by the braced door and the exterior wall of our house was where Charlotte chose to stay when she took up residence with us. But this open space was also the reason the door would bang, one second against the concrete block we used as a stop and the next against the corner where the brick wall ended, each time there was a strong wind. It was beating itself to hell and making all kinds of racket, and I had struck out when trying to find a replacement hinge that would work, and even when trying to remove the broken pieces of hinge from the rivets that held them so something new could go on there.
I ended up unscrewing the aluminum frame from the wooden frame behind it and putting the entire thing in the shed, but before I did that I thought I’d help Charlotte relocate. This was a tedious process. As I said, I’m ok with Charlotte, but that doesn’t mean I want her scurrying up my hand and across whatever other parts of my body she sees necessary at top-speed. Having selected a stick that seemed sturdy, maneuverable, and several feet long, I attempted to gently slide it under her. I was going to place her a few feet higher, on top of the downspout from our gutter. You always see cobwebs in those types of spots right? And, I don’t know who assembled this particular downspout but they were the Michelangelo of downspouts. The angles are all “45!” “Schloop: 45!” “Pwow: 90!” You could calibrate your protractor with it. A web-builder could do a lot with that! It’s like scoring the corner office! At least that’s what I was saying to Charlotte, out loud, at my normal speaking volume, as she reared back further with every approach from the stick, and flashed her spider-fangs, which, like the rest of her, were substantial in size. Growing impatient, I finally just swept through the web, which was going to be destroyed anyway. (I’ve always heard they build a new one every day. I hope that’s true.) I came up from under her and the momentum had her clinging to the stick as it quickly made its way up to her new room. Then, sure enough, she started down the stick, towards my tender flesh, those black, needly front feet digging at the branch in front of her at a breakneck pace. But before she reached the halfway point , or “shriek, drop the whole shebang, and run inside territory,” she tied a silken thread on to the side of the stick and rappelled straight down, off the side of the porch, at twice the speed she’d been running at. I was Tommy Lee Jones to her Harrison Ford, watching her take this death-defying plunge, knowing she’d somehow survive and, that once she got to the bottom, she’d vanish like a ghost. Sure enough, I immediately descended the steps and searched the ground and the plants and side of the porch, and I have no idea where she went.
Charlotte,
If you’re reading this on the web (puns!) I can see why you’d be upset, but I hope this helps explain why we had to dismantle your nesting spot. I don’t know what spiders do when it gets cold, but we’re having a Halloween party next weekend, and your creepy form hanging off the side of the house would be quite an addition to the decor! And your eggs are still bundled on the side of the house! Won’t you think of your hatchlings!?! Who will raise/eat them!?! I truly hope you’ll see fit to return.
Sincerely,
Tommy Lee
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