Eulogy for an Un-Killable Spider

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to pay tribute to our brave, eight legged friend, Scary Green Spider. SGS hitched a ride with us way back in Ohio, and held on through five states, forty degree temperature swings, one bored house-cat, and six different vacuum attachments. 

We cleaned up your strange, fluffy web a grand total of eighty seven times, and each time, it would be back the following morning, creeping us out and turning us into ninjas in the two steps between the bathroom and the bedroom. We admire your tenacity.

Don't get me wrong, SGS. Your iridescent hues would be attractive, or even beautiful, if they belonged to a bird or fish. And I do appreciate your masterful trapping of the tiny gnats that flew in every time we opened the door in Tennessee. I'm sure you protected us from many a mosquito as well, and I do appreciate your place in the food chain. You were an important predator friend to have, if we could only get past the recurring nightmare of finding you in our bed.

Your eyes were big and there were lots of them, SGS. We are pretty sure you watched us from your little spot in the corner of our sliding door frame, just out of reach of the vacuum cleaner. I'm glad you stayed safe up there, while managing to make us feel weirdly spied upon. Your observational skills were to be commended.

Today, when I found your spidery corpse, I'm not going to lie: I thought it might be some sort of trick. Maybe you weren't really dead and were attempting to take over the trailer by sending me, shrieking, to a new home. I poked your body a few times with a piece of toilet paper. When you didn't move, I picked you up (with a bigger piece of toilet paper) and flushed you. Now I'm a little bit scared to use the toilet.

But alas, you are dead, SGS, unless you are hiding in our black tank, waiting for your moment to return and conquer the place you made your home for the last four months. 

I wonder what happened to you. Did you starve? There are very few insects to eat in February, even in Texas. Old age? You did look fairly prehistoric. I could picture you wrapping up and munching on pterodactyls in your massive web. Did Stripey Cat finally manage to catch you, and deny you the satisfaction of being eaten? 

Regardless of what happened, I will clean up your web one last time today, and remember all the memories we shared.

Oh, and if you do come back as some sort of undead vampire spider, (otherwise known as "a spider,") please stay out of my bed.