It’s pretty chill most of the time. Does its thing, catches out some of those annoying mosquitos. Keeps us both happy. But a couple of nights ago I came home, late at night, probably not entirely sober, and it spoke to me. I didn’t have the energy for a double- or triple-take, so I just did a take instead. ‘Sorry, what was that?’ The spider repeated what it had said. A good handful of seconds later, his words started to sink in.
‘Well,’ I slurred, ‘I guess that’s pretty logical.’ The spider shook in its web, mumbling something about distinguishing between the logical and intuitive. It wasn’t mumbling, it was more like a tirade of sorts, but it was going too fast for me to follow. He asked me if I followed all that. Honesty escaped me, and I said I hadn’t followed. It sighed and roped itself down onto the armrest of the bench below it.
‘When you’re a spider, you live on instinct, on what your brain tells you to do. If I sit in the corner of my web and I feel it shake, I don’t think about what it means. I don’t analyze to realize I have caught a pray. I just move, because it is what feels right. I do what I must, because that is my mode of living, hard-wired into my very being. Instinct and intuition, not logic and reason.’
It started climbing back up the wall. ‘You humans, what do you do?’