She’s been living in my bathroom for about three weeks now. I think that’s 4,628 in spider weeks.
I never see her until I get in the shower. Then she walks across the ceiling and waves at me. I kid you not. Every day.
Of course I wave back, usually getting shampoo in my eyes which makes her laugh. It’s this thing we do.
She’s really quite amazing and not the least bit scary.
I was going to call her Mommy Long Legs, but it seemed rude to presume. Instead, I call her Cyd Charisse.
My Cyd Charisse doesn’t dance backwards in high heels, but she does walk upside down which I bet you can’t do. Plus, she has terrific gams.
After I rub the shampoo from my eyes, I watch her. She moves so elegantly, gliding and hovering on the ceiling. She’s a tad longer than an inch, covered with velvety henna hairs.
Oscar S. Cisneros says …
“Poor spider – its grace and delicacy lost on a society too brutish to see its eight-legged beauty.”
Don Tidwell had a visiting bathroom spider too …
“He crawled around his universe
Inspecting every tile,
Then climbed upon his special perch
To watch me for awhile.”
And Walt Whitman loved a nice quiet spider …
“A noiseless, patient spider,
I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them–ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,–seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form’d–till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.”
“Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.
But if you drop into my hair, you’ll fling into the bowl.”
It’s not great poetry, but she understood.
Do you like spiders? Ever have one move in with you?