I woke up this morning, headed into the bathroom for my routine relief-giving ritual, and caught, peripherally, a glance of something in the toilet. I paused in my pajama shucking and turned around to regard the-thing-in-there.
It was a spider. Brown, medium-sized, and floating upside down, right in the center of the bowl.
I am no coroner, but to my eyes this arachnid was very, very dead.
I am not fond of spiders. In an abstract way, I understand that they play an invaluable role in the food chain, and without them, other insect populations would overrun the earth. All this makes perfect sense in my brain; but when I see a spider, when I catch sight of that bulbous body, the way it skitters, all those legs wiggling on the wall, I want to:
a. scream repeatedly
b. rapidly bludgeon it with a heavy object, and then-
c. freak the fuck out from my traumatic encounter.
This being said, I had to regard the water-logged specimen in the toilet with a degree of reverence.
How very thoughtful of this spider to save me the stress involved in trying to bludgeon it while it skittered this way and that.
How very enlightened of this spider to recognize that he/she had committed a heinous act by violating the sanctity of my bathroom.
How very accommodating of this spider to then off itself neatly and efficiently, saving me the trouble of scrubbing its remains from the bathroom walls.
Here was a truly honorable arachnid; an example for its species. I salute its selfless contribution, even as I make that fateful flush.
R. I. P