We’ve had to give up one of the guest bedrooms to a new house guest. Folks, meet Enrique Eight-Legs-He-Is, the biggest wolf spider I have ever seen, and our newest house-guest.
I’m sure many of you are ‘eeeking’ your way through that first sentence. A wolf spider does not belong in the house; in fact, a wolf spider belongs anywhere BUT in the house. And generally, I agree.
The day Enrique moved in, he showed up with a loud knock at the front door. When we didn’t answer fast enough, the door flew open and banged against the wall. Enrique took the Cuban cigar out of his mouth and told us he was moving in. Since six out of eight of his hairy legs were carrying designer luggage, we believed him. And guess what? When a spider shows up with luggage, the shock alone will stupefy you enough to let him in.
After looking around our humble home, Enrique first chose Peter’s office trash can as his home. He moved out on garbage day, with much grumbling as he jumped three feet from the rim of the can to the floor below. Enrique demanded that his luggage be moved to the laundry room and the wood pile, where he might be able to eat and sleep in peace. Enrique also informed us that he was telling his travel agent that we’d cleaned up his first room without his permission.
So we let Enrique have the laundry room and small wood pile. We left chocolate on a log every night for him, hoping he wouldn’t report to his travel agent and ruin our reputation for spider vacation accommodations.
Enrique forgot his place in our home. He stayed in the laundry room for a while, but I guess his room service wasn’t up to snuff, because he decided to move back in to Peter’s office garbage can. The problem was, this time, his luggage, cigar and legs were holding on for dear life. And I don’t know what Enrique was eating in the laundry room, but he was fat, hairy, happy, and strong. And he looked like he wanted this arrangement to be permanent, if the sneer on his fangy face was telling the truth. Enrique winked at me with a couple of dozen eyes as if daring me to make him move.
That kind of insolence just doesn’t work with me. So I told him it was time to go. He ran under a book shelf. I’m not positive, but I think one of his legs flipped me off in the process.
But the next morning, when I got up and found him making a fly omelette in my good pan, I’d had enough. I tried to reason with Enrique, even gave him a high eight to show him our appreciation for eating so many house insects. As I ushered Enrique out the front door. He moseyed to the forest and disappeared, but his luggage is still here, so he’ll probably be back when we least expect him.
And he’ll probably be right between us on our bed, smoking one of his Cubans.