Close Every Door

Saturday I arrived home to find this little guy waiting next to my door:



The next morning, I stepped out the door to head to church, and when I turned to lock the deadbolt, I was startled to find the fellow had made progress during the night:



I think he was just reaching for the doorbell when I opened the door.

Also? Please note my bravery. My iPhone has no zoom, so I had to get rather close for this photo. Like, tentacle-reaching-out-to-touch-my-hand close. Ew, ew, ew! And brave me!

Undaunted, I left, and saw no sign of my visitor when I got home. I made a pineapple cake and a double batch of cookies and headed out to a group dinner. As I approached my door that night, though, my stalker waited, like Cerberus, between me and my rest:



He was there again this morning, and again when I got home from school. He has not told me yet what his demands are. I think he's letting me sweat a bit first, but I have my suspicions:

When I was staying in that lovely, rustic cottage at Valdelavilla, I faced many spiders. One night, while getting ready for bed, I discovered a rather large one on the wall. I was in my pajamas, lacked cups and spare papers, and had no desire to get presentable; so I summoned my courage and killed it rather than finding a way to fling it outside and away from me.

I woke up suddenly a few hours later in the wee smalls of the night, with the distinct sensation of being watched. I turned on my bedside lamp to find four spiders hanging from the ceiling, directly above my head, watching me.

I think I angered the spider mafia, and they summoned their minions to get me. The rest of my stay there, they sought me out, threatening to land on me.

So my theory? The spiders finally managed to get word to Colorado. All summer, I have found more and more little arachnids in my apartment, but I ignored them (well, really I would shout, "Spider, Nash! Get the spider! Spider! Spider! Aah!" Natasha would look at me, look at my pointing finger, then rub her head against my finger to get scratches. I would get a glass and a piece of paper to fling them away).

I didn't heed their warnings. And now they've sent out their muscle.



P.S. Yes, I know that such creatures tend to be female. However, it is way too menacing to be female. Unless... wait! I have it! I shall christen it Mrs. Danvers. That's quite appropriate.