Clyde is driving me nuts. He’s a fat black spider hanging out in my favorite recliner chair. And he’s smart and devious.
Snakes and mice and bats and bees hang out on our property. I’m okay with them. We have developed an informal truce over the years. They mind their manners. Not Clyde.
Clyde has chosen my chair as his permanent home. He knows its inner workings. God only knows the decorative webs he has constructed in my chair’s underbelly. He moseys out when I don’t expect him, just to tease me, but then ducks under the armrest before I can royally smack him.
I know Clyde will bite me, probably more than once, in a private area while I’m reading a favorite book. It’s just a matter of time — his time.
My favorite posting on a gravestone is: “Most of what got me here never happened.”
I’d like to think that applies to Clyde.
But did I mention he is devious?
Action man