As I turn the water on for my bath, I notice a black spider in the sink. Not one of those gentle brown spiders that live in the corners of my ceiling. No, this is a fierce-looking black spider with pointy legs.
And he’s fast, too, I discover, when I fail to capture him in a Kleenex. Because I don’t want to kill this black spider, only carry him out the back door and let him go.
My husband scoffs at this, saying, “He’ll only die anyway.”
True, the weather is cold now. That’s why the spiders are coming indoors. I just don’t want them coming in MY doors.
After I’ve settled into the tub, I see the black spider swimming next to me. I try to catch him but the water swirls and pulls him under. Then it’s easy to lift him out, looking limp and lifeless.
“Sorry, fella,” I say and nudge him onto the wad of Kleenex. When I climb out of the tub a half hour later, the black spider is crawling around, looking pretty perky. So, I put on my robe and head for the back door.
“He’ll only die anyway,” my husband says.
“No,” I say, “this one is immortal.”
