A spider appeared one day on our bathroom sink not long ago, having spun an invisible web between the backsplash and the agate holder we have for our water glass. I spotted him and thought about moving him, but we had an ant problem in that location and I thought, well, maybe he could take out a few. So I left him there. When Richard came home, he noticed the spider, too. “What’s with the spider in the bathroom?” he asked.

 

“Well,” I said, “he doesn’t seem to be hurting anything. I figured we could leave him there for a while.”

 

“Sure,” said Richard. “He’s probably eating some ants.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” I said.  

 

So the spider stayed. At first whenever we would get near him, he would crouch defensively, ready to leap at a moment’s notice. But after a while, when he realized that we weren’t going to disturb him, he started to relax. Whenever we brushed our teeth and reached for the glass, he stayed put, snug and secure.

 

After a while, I began to think how cute he was, suspended in his modest, invisible web that made him look as though he were hovering in mid-air. Plus, he was a nicely shaped spider, with a compact little body and legs that were not gangly or creepy. Not only that, he was the same color as the agate bathroom set we have—soap dish, toothbrush holder, and glass holder—a warm, rusty brown. So, really, he looked pretty darned good there. And it did seem as though the number of ants had dwindled considerably.  

 

 

I contemplated telling our guests that he was our pet and they weren’t to bother him. If they had a problem with him, they could wash their hands and brush their teeth at the kitchen sink. But then I thought maybe our friends would feel concerned that my eccentricity had crossed the line into something darker and more worrisome. You know, not everyone has warm, fuzzy feelings for spiders like I do—at least, for cute spiders that match my decor, eat annoying ants, and don’t go crazy with the cobwebs.

 

So I came to my senses and braced myself to move him, but the morning I got up to play my role as repo woman, he had already moved out. Maybe he knew he was about to get the boot. Maybe he had eaten all the ants (which, had, in fact, disappeared). So I was spared my conundrum; the spider had thoughtfully taken care of the situation.  

 

I miss having house lizards (see my post “A Tale of Two Lizards”), but a helpful and thoughtful spider like this little guy was a nice substitute for a while. Wherever you are, little buddy, thanks for the pest control services! And stay away from the bathtub drain! It may seem inviting, but it’s a death trap.

 

 

Above, top: A picture of The Spider, using the flash.

 

Above, left: A picture of the little guy without the flash, which allows you to see his endearing hovercraft qualities.