This afternoon as I walked in through the open garage door, I happened to catch sight of a large, black, many-legged insect between the track for the door and the frame of the garage. For some reason, I bent down to get a closer look. In a horror movie, you'd be screaming NO, NO, DON'T GET CLOSER, YOU DOLT! But I thought it might be one of those big crickets that are everywhere around here.
It. Was. No. Cricket.
It was one of the biggest spiders I have seen outside of a glass case. Tucked into a nice little spot off to the side, it looked at me and I looked at him, er, her. And then I backed away. Slowly.
I have a love/hate relationship with spiders. I know they eat all the bugs that I really hate: mosquitoes, gnats, flies, etc. But they are super-duper creepy. It's all those legs and they're so fast and their EYES. Whenever I see one, I think of that giant spider from the Lord of the Rings, with it's lightening fast stinger. Gives me the willies.
As a young girl, my attitude was smush first, ask questions later. But when I was 17, after years of unprovoked abuse, the spiders hit back. One of the wee beasties took a nibble on the back of my leg. It. was. bad. I took the high ground, though. Instead of firing back, I decided a truce must be called.
Since then, I like to think we have an agreement, the spiders and I, like the one we have with pigeons. You know, we look the other way when they poop on statues and they get out of the road when we need to drive on it. I (mostly) look the other way when they create little webs in the corners of rooms and they don't touch me. Ever.
The monster in our garage has been a quiet and respectful tenant. As long as s/he follows the rules, the status quo is fine with me. But the minute, s/he steps over the line? Truce OVER.