So I'm really bad at keeping pets. Fish, at least. So I befriended this little spider that lives in the left corner, right beside my door.
To be honest, she's not little. She's kind of big. She's also not a she. When I talk about her, I use the female genre, probably because in French, it's that way, but part of me cringes and keeps saying it's a he.
And she has a name. It's not a human name, though. It's the kind of name that you can only have if you have eight legs and as many eyes. And a striped body. Whenever I'm done locking my door, I look up, just to see if she's there, and for at least a second, I smile and my whole brain is entirely focused on this little living thing. "Hey, H_____". Her name's a sound, and as far as I can tell, it's starts with an H. But don't ask me to pronounce it. It's not a pronounceable name.
She's so little though, that even though I'm entirely fascinated by her for a split second every morning, only a part of me react to her. Little tinges of thrills in parts of my brain and in my stomach whenever I see her.
She's the reboot to my day, my little part of my routine. My little "good morning, sunshine". Which is why I panic when she's not there. The first time it happened, I was actually surprisingly depressed for the whole day. When I got home, she was sitting there, as smugly as a spider can sit when she has no idea of the effect she has on the world... or at least on part of the world. The thrill of joy my tired brain felt was overwhelming, and actually quite concerning. She's disappeared and reappeared quite a bit, always when cold or windy or rainy weather hits. She usually turns up after a couple of days, though. I like to think of her crouched in my wall, keeping watch on my door. For some reason, I think she's a better watch dog than what I previously had, a large, but stupid royal poodle.
This morning, it was gorgeous out. Humid, sunny, warm. I checked to see if she was there. She wasn't. When I went out again this afternoon, she was there, sitting in the middle of her web, one loose strand hanging low, holding on to a leaf that was unexplainably still green. The leaf was steadily going up, and I realized she was packing up. I didn't understand why. It was amazing outside. Perfect spider weather.
Not two hours later, strong winds hit Quebec. Isn't she wonderful.
To be honest, she's not little. She's kind of big. She's also not a she. When I talk about her, I use the female genre, probably because in French, it's that way, but part of me cringes and keeps saying it's a he.
And she has a name. It's not a human name, though. It's the kind of name that you can only have if you have eight legs and as many eyes. And a striped body. Whenever I'm done locking my door, I look up, just to see if she's there, and for at least a second, I smile and my whole brain is entirely focused on this little living thing. "Hey, H_____". Her name's a sound, and as far as I can tell, it's starts with an H. But don't ask me to pronounce it. It's not a pronounceable name.
She's so little though, that even though I'm entirely fascinated by her for a split second every morning, only a part of me react to her. Little tinges of thrills in parts of my brain and in my stomach whenever I see her.
She's the reboot to my day, my little part of my routine. My little "good morning, sunshine". Which is why I panic when she's not there. The first time it happened, I was actually surprisingly depressed for the whole day. When I got home, she was sitting there, as smugly as a spider can sit when she has no idea of the effect she has on the world... or at least on part of the world. The thrill of joy my tired brain felt was overwhelming, and actually quite concerning. She's disappeared and reappeared quite a bit, always when cold or windy or rainy weather hits. She usually turns up after a couple of days, though. I like to think of her crouched in my wall, keeping watch on my door. For some reason, I think she's a better watch dog than what I previously had, a large, but stupid royal poodle.
This morning, it was gorgeous out. Humid, sunny, warm. I checked to see if she was there. She wasn't. When I went out again this afternoon, she was there, sitting in the middle of her web, one loose strand hanging low, holding on to a leaf that was unexplainably still green. The leaf was steadily going up, and I realized she was packing up. I didn't understand why. It was amazing outside. Perfect spider weather.
Not two hours later, strong winds hit Quebec. Isn't she wonderful.
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