An Open Letter to the Spider in the Front Yard

Dear Not-So-Dear Arachnid from Hell,

Good evening, sir/madam. I’m writing you because a situation occurred tonight which I would like to immediately address so that it does not happen again.

You should know I don’t consider myself a homewrecker. Indeed, I have gone out of my way to avoid situations where those laying snug in their corners might feel violated by my behavior. You should also know, therefore, that when I destroyed the northernmost anchor of your web tonight, it was because you forced my hand. Nevermind that my “hand” was really a stick, gingerly held many feet away by my actual hand. I had to blast apart the very foundations of your household just so I could get into my household. And therein lies the problem, Mr./Mrs. Spider.

I’m mostly okay with you inhabiting the corner of the tall front-yard shrubbery – my tall front-yard shrubbery. I am aware that you may consider this area highly wooded and therefore suitable for you to stake a claim here.

However, I must enlighten you that, in fact, the heavily wooded area consists of but three small non-deciduous tress that run exactly perpendicular to the walkway most often used by the inhabitants of this home (you can see here that I am selflessly looking out for others, not just me). To further exemplify my great selflessness, I’ll let you know that on my way from the garage to the house tonight, I purposefully avoided the shortcut down the alleyway between houses, just so I wouldn’t accidentally destroy the web that one of your idiot cousins rudely built in between the buildings’ walls. I took the long way around, despite knowing you were lurking by the front walkway, no doubt watching for my return, plotting how best to ensnare me in the sticky vestiges of your lair.

And I still tried to avoid you. Are we getting somewhere yet? No?

Let me persuade you further. You may not be aware of this fact, so I’ll just briefly enlighten you. In human law, there exist the concept of aerial property rights. You may or may not be familiar with the Latin term, “Cuius est solum, eius est usque ad caelum et ad inferos” – If you are not, I highly suggest you review your root words. You are welcome to use the underground – i.e., infero – until your little exoskeletal heart explodes. But goddammit, araneae, the caelum is mine! Mine, I say!

So listen up, you fat, hairy bitch. It is unacceptable for you to spin your surprisingly strong web in any area that I may accidentally walk face-first into. It was to both of our advantage that I am so sensitive to your locale that I did not plunge into your trap, inadvertently dragging you and all your dead prey into my very cute hair.

If there exists even the remotest possibility that a human may pass through any of the air above the ground which said human possesses, your presence is exceedingly unwelcome. You may not reside there. You may not even think about residing there. Your siblings and descendants and in-laws may not think about residing there, and if they complain, you can tell em Liz sent ya, and then shake an imaginary can of bug spray for effect.

So learn to anchor your web elsewhere, spider, or God so help my little white terrified butt, I will slaughter you. I don’t care how much you help the environment by eating bugs. I can eat my own bugs. Whether you face death by spider spray, blunt force trauma, or slow, intimate dissection, you will die.

Look, I think we can find some common ground (I hear you eat your men post-coitus). All that I ask is, during your standard housekeeping procedures, you stay far, far away from any area of my home that could even be remotely crossed by humans, particularly me. It’s not that hard.

Kiss my fucking ass, sweetheart.

Yours,

E

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