Spider

The music of rain on the tin roof is interrupted by my mother:

“There’s a tarantula in the kitchen!”

Each word grows louder, and the pitch grows higher.

I sigh. Typical evening in the jungle.

I wake Abigail up, and we groggily make our way to the living room.

Not the kitchen. Technically, they are the same room. But this is my way of saying we are a safe distance away from the spider.

There it is- looking like it would bite my head off. I would totally die of a heart attack if one of those climbed into my loft at night, I think silently.

“Get a tennis ball, a broom, drag that chair over here, and open the front door,” Dad said.

Five minutes later, we are standing on the porch with our camera.

“Hockey-puck it!” Mom suggests.

“Well, it’s dead,” my dad starts.

“Just one of it’s tricks,” Mom says. “Hit him with the broom!”

We look at each other and I think to myself, Yep, typical evening in the jungle.

Blessings,

Madeline Studebaker