Deciding I've already let too much of the day get away from me, I get right to work at my computer. I am happily typing away when I hear something behind me that sounds like a beetle. My townhouse is notorious for weird nature sightings. I've had bees, potato bugs, silverfish, mice, chipmunks, squirrels, stink bugs, and giant beetles, not to mention a menagerie of other things, so I recognize what sounds to be a beetle pinging off the light bulb across the room.
When I turn and search, there is no beetle, but there is a spider crawling along the line that separates the wall from my dormer ceiling. Ahhhh, ya little bastard. Second spider in two weeks.
Instead of falling dead like it's supposed to, the force of the air from the swatter combined with the wide arc of my swinging arm causes the spider to spring from the wall and fly through the air like it's performing in Cirque du Soleil. It catapults itself three feet from the wall, hits my shirt, and ... disappears.
I search the carpet, the swatter, my hair, my pants, my feet, the furniture, but I don't see the spider. I start fluffing my shirt out, hoping if it went down there, that it falls out on its own. I don't ever find the spider, and I am relieved to report it is not crawling on my person.
The truly strange part is that the other spider I found in my kitchen two weeks ago was whacked with a different swatter but performed the same aerial stunt. It was also first thing in the morning, only that time I swore my head off when it landed on the kitchen table, then I smacked it until its legs were all in different counties.
I think it might be time to go back to squishing spiders with errant shoes. It might leave marks all over the walls and ceilings, but I'll have less chance of the mysterious flying counterattacks.
