I've been keeping a photographic tank watch log, to try to monitor how fast I'm going through heating oil. Snapped this one early this morning, before the oil man arrived. Didn't notice my nemesis until I was cleaning up the picture for my log. Look at the size of that spider! For comparison's sake, that oil gauge is about 6 inches high
This is why I don't like going to the cellar.
(c) 2009 Martha McLemore
5 comments:
You and the spider have a shared interest in oil consumption; he (many ascribe femininity to spiders but I think that's sexist) no more than you wishes to spend the winter snipping off necrosed toes with a blunt pair of scissors as a result of a cold snap outdoors. It's time you bridged this gap. Kneel down there in the same position and sing the Coca-Cola anthem to him, stressing "...in perfect harmoneee."
Sorry, BB: Anything with glowing eyes staring at me does not engender a desire for living in harmony with it.
Looks like someone already removed one of its legs. (Spiders have toes?)
:)
What the eye doesn't see ...
Plutarch:
...the heart cannot grieve.
Or freak out about, in my case.
:)
Our house is full of spiders. We can't get rid of them. We've tried making war but no matter how many we throw outside / hoover up / wash down the plughole there seems to be 10 to take their place. So we've learnt to live with them. They keep down the flies and also each other. The big ones eat the little ones and so on. We reckon if we leave them alone long enough they'll eradicate themselves and we'll only have one huge monster spider up in the attic to worry about. I'm looking for a shotgun on eBay in preparation.
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