A spider’s POV

This morning I stepped on a spider. A big one. With my bare foot. (Feel free to shudder. I still have the heebeegeebees.)

Of course I did the frantic leg shake, hoping against hope that the black thing I’d seen stuck under my little toe was a bit of black lint. But it wasn’t.  That bit of lint had legs, and they were still moving, albeit slowly and painfully.

I was going to be late for my train, so I hastily put on my walking shoes, keeping an eye on the crippled arachnid the whole time. Was it faking its mortal wounds or just waiting until the giant left the room to scurry away? I won’t know until I get home. Likely I’ll find its curled up carcass on my dance floor tonight.

I feel bad for the poor thing. I don’t particularly like spiders, but I don’t kill them on sight either. Most get relocated outside unless they’re found in the bedroom or the shower.

But that got me thinking about what life must be like from a spider’s POV (Not the POV of Aragog, Hagrid’s giant spider pet from the Harry Potter novels).

What’s it like to live in a world of giants, where huge furred beasts lie in wait? A place where, if you’re unlucky enough to get caught, the beasts will throw you around until they get bored,  maybe mouth you a bit, then leave you to die from internal injuries.   Do they know the shadow of a boot or wad of Kleenex spells their doom?  What’s it like to be trapped in a glass, then thrown with force into a new environment?

Those are the thoughts that kept me from freaking out over the fact that I had a giant spider trapped under my bare toe for a few seconds this morning.