Hehehhehee. There are no poisonous spiders where I live (New Zealand only has two poisonous varieties and I don't live in the right place for either of them, fortunately). As it happens, while I don't like spiders much, and draw the line at actually having them on me (even waking one morning to the sight of a large wolf spider coming over the horizon of my pillow - all I could see at first was it's blurry legs (no glasses on) - didn't phase me too much) I don't go hysterical at the sight of them (my mother and sister do) because it seems a bit silly. In fact I don't even like squishing them (one winter I carried the same spider out to the wood pile about ten times before enlisting my father to murder it).

However, since I bought Ivory home, I haven't had much choice because it's either kill the little buggers or be kept awake all night by the sounds of a spider hunting kitty. One night in particular stands out clearly in my mind - I was awoken by the sound of Ivory scrabbling amongst the papers in my study (which is right next to my bedroom) and got up to see what she was doing, because she knows that her scrabbling in my text books and research notes drives me barmy (yeah, yeah, I know - if I kept them tidier, I wouldn't have the problem. But I *like* my study looking like a forest was massacred in it, with papers thrown far and wide). Turns out she was hunting a moth, but the damn thing wouldn't stay still long enough for her to eat it. So, being the doting cat mommy, I grabbed a stray piece of newspaper to squish it with. What I didn't know was the the newspaper harboured a largish spider, which fell out and proceeded to run right towards Ivory and up her bottom - well, the look on her face when she realised that there was something tickly in her bum fur. I swear she jumped three feet up in the air and came down, fur standing on end, back arched in a perfect Halloween kitty imitation, her front paw right on the spider.

I could almost hear her cry of "I'll get you you bastard spider". She had her foe trapped under her paw; it could do nothing but feebly wave it's legs. Ivory maneuvered her enemy until she could put it in her mouth. In to the gaping maw it went. She closed her mouth . . got yet another curious look on her face . . spat it out. Back under the paw . . back into her mouth . . . spit it out and put it back under the paw . . back into the mouth . . And so on for about ten minutes until I took pity on her (and stopped laughing) and squished it so it wouldn't wriggle around when she tried to swallow it! Of course, Ivory got the last laugh - I went back to bed and she promptly hopped up beside me and started licking my face. Oooooh, spider breath.

(It puts me in mind of the song "I knew and old lady who swallowed a spider . . .".)

Copyright © Maryrose Lockerbie
January 18, 2000