Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away.

Little Miss Miller
Hid under her pillow
A spider was on the wall
She lurched out of bed and had a fall
If only the spider could have been small!

She didn’t want to kill it
Was it moving? Oh shit!
She wished with all her rapidly beating heart
That it would very rapidly depart

It’s Autumn, the rain is fairly constant, and the spiders are coming in. Laura herself came from a land of excess where everything was huge. The trees, the animals, most of the people – and yes, the creepy-crawlies too. And then there were the spiders…

Little Miss Muffet had nothing on Laura. Just seeing a spider lurching across the ceiling was enough to get her hair standing on edge… literally up on her head like a troll-doll. That’s what it felt like anyway. 

Her dad used to come in with a glass and a piece of paper and get the spider out. A very big glass or even a vase sometimes. These were BIG spiders!

Then she grew up. Kind of. And her dad wasn’t around to rescue her anymore.

And she moved to a city where the spiders and the cockroaches seemed to hunt in packs. And there were other things too – violence in the streets, revolution in the air and fear on the telly.

And heat. Glistening, hot streets. Scuttling little figures under the streetlights. Hundreds of them.

And the crime and violence of course.

And the spiders. They leapt across ceilings; they were the size of her hand at least and they were furry.

One dropped onto the bed where she was lying, rigid and terrified. She thought her heart would burst.

Little Miss Muffet ran away. Laura started to drink. Damm the curds and whey, a stiff whisky or three took some of the edge of fear away.

And then heaven. She moved to a country where the insects were smaller. The spiders didn’t grow big enough to attack and eat mice. Okay, it was only one photo that went viral, but it happened. Oh, and the violence wasn’t as prevalent. And revolution seemed less likely.

Peace. Then climate change. Then more rain and a story she spotted. Garden spiders growing bigger than ever. Tarantulas spotted in Devon. And a warning, when the rain comes the garden spiders come inside.

And then she spotted two inside. Hairy looking, black and yellow stripes, quite pretty according to the British Arachnological Society (BAS) and not dangerous per se. 

Right.

Having given up whisky for good reason, she tried mindfulness. Then she tried giving them names and most of all she tried to know where they were at all times – largely lurking up on the pelmet near each other.

Sally-Anne, Sara and Shelob – that was the original spider that created webs in the corner where there hadn’t been any cleaning in recent memory. Shelob scuttled out and stung her prey and wrapped them up in her web, just like in Lord of the Rings.

Laura really should have tried to get Shelob and her ghastly hanging garden of corpses out. 

But now Sally-Anne and Sara seemed to lurk behind Shelob. From what Laura could gather, they didn’t do webs. They stalked their prey. And the females managed to live in close proximity with each other. Plus, they were bigger. (Thanks BAS).

She tried to feel a comradely warmth towards fellow females. Then Sara disappeared. Into the room somewhere and the comradely warmth dissipated.

Ugh.

So how does one tackle life when lurking in the corner is a spider which could come out at any time and sit down beside her?

Or inadvertently scuttle across the table or share a chair?

Laura wasn’t sure what the eco-friendly answer was. To get them all outside gently definitely but how did one do that when you were petrified. Troll-doll hair time terrified.

And could one phone a friend and confess? Or hire a service? 

It was all too awful. Deep breaths. And the hope that Sara had set off on a journey and wasn’t lurking upside down under the table somewhere close to Laura’s legs while she was working.

And Sally-Ann and Shelob were happily in a co-dependent relationship up in their corner. Happily staying there and sharing the odd fly and poor bee that blundered into the web.

Till Laura could come up with a plan that didn’t make her sound insane or try and make a tall, spider-friendly friend with a head for heights who could gently take Sally-Ann and Shelob outside.

Where it was raining. Storm Ashley was expected for goodness’s sake. And the BAS suggested putting them into a shed, if you had one.

Sometimes you just needed your dad. With a huge glass. 

But at their current angle and height even dad couldn’t have caught them without unexpected circumstances – ala one falling into Laura’s face.

Or scuttling away and hiding to emerge onto the table.

Or.

Or.

Or.

Without whisky to turn to, Laura had to rely on hope and a prayer – they’d move on and out or die of old age before her.

And Sara had headed off for pastures new. 

And nobody wanted to land on anybody else or get too close.

And her cat would tackle any spider that sat down beside her.

Or she could move house.

Or burn it down.

Burn it down or move… hmmm Rightmove and Zoopla. Did they list spider-free zones? 

Not Devon then certainly.

Casting frequent glances at the corner where the two lady spiders lolled, Laura started scrolling through prospective properties.

Susan Miller