He showed up last week. He seemingly fell into the flourescent light panel just above Amy’s head at work. About Tuesday she IM’s me and tells me that there is a spider stuck up in the lighting above her head. We watched him creep from side to side as the day progressed. On Wednesday we looked for him and found him in the corner. Mind you, we were only staring at his underbelly but his outstretched legs made him about the size of a silver dollar. Pretty big, by my accounting of spiders.
Pretty soon, the whole legal team knew about him. Stacey, deathly afraid of spiders, unwillingly learned of his existence. Bryan decided he needed a name so, by Thursday, his name was really Barbara. Until we decided that was too boring for a spider so we named him Skeeter McWeeny instead. More pizzazz if you ask me.
The accounting/data entry people noticed Skeeter’s rather confined escape attempts. By Friday I was ready to launch a “Free Skeeter” campaign. Skeeter tenaciously kept up with his pilgrimage from one side of the panel to the other. We were frankly surprised he hadn’t burned from the lights.
I should have let him out on Friday like I wanted. But by Monday morning when we returned, Skeeter was dead. Shrivelled into a leggy lump at the bottom of the panel. He was gone. Amy mourned the loss of her newfound arachnafriend.
Since Bryan’s last day was on Friday, we decided we should return Skeeter’s body to Bryan for respectful disposal. So Amy wrote up a tribute poem, and we are boxing him up today to be Fedexed to Bryan.
Rest in Peace, Skeeter. You were short, leggy and hairy. But we know your heart was good as you were bathed in light the last of your days on this cotton-pickin earth.
Sonnet to Skeeter McWeeny
Who shriveled to the Light on 8/23/08
By Amy Roper
I see you dance on the fluorescent floor;
Though many find you foul, I disagree;
No Shelob can compare to your décor
Or match the emanating grace I see.
They say the butterfly is very fair
With colored wings that waft above the flowers;
And yet you tread the lighted bulbs like air;
Your ballerina legs won’t tire for hours.
It’s true, your gray complexion is like stone;
No gaudy gems match your simplicity.
Your eyes of eight shine, sparkling just like chrome;
Your presence adds to my felicity.
Arachnid, now my happiness is full
With your impression stamped upon my sole.