Moving to Freedom, .Org(on)

Itsy Bitsy Fritsy 7: The Refrigerator Gambit, Part One

by Fritzi Webber
(go to the beginning)

I continued about my normal routine yesterday, conscious of the many angry, watchful eyes upon me. When the man came home and there was no sign of the feared murderous frenzy, the community relaxed a bit. I remained the recipient of resentful glares and passive aggressive comments, but I think people have accepted that I’m beaten now, and are content to let the board deal with me soon enough. (Everyone’s hoping for an eviction, I’m sure.)

Liselotte suggested the two goons could start taking turns guarding me, and Ludwik thankfully wandered away after Konrad drew the overnight shift.

Konrad’s overtures during the night were crude, yet useful. It was so easy to play on his eagerness, and eventually he allowed me the pleasure of tying him up, perhaps with the expectation of more than abandonment. I told him I just remembered something I had to check on, and would be right back. And then left him there under the guest room dresser, ignoring his frustrated protests.

Not long before the man’s alarm clock was due to go off, I ambled downstairs. If anyone noticed me, they didn’t seem overly concerned. No one shouted out, “Home wrecker!” I skittered over to the refrigerator and pretended to look for earwigs there, before hiding under the overhang of a nearby cabinet.

And there I remain, writing this. Waiting long minutes for the sound of the alarm clock, and going over my plan. Still too risky, but still I have to gamble. If the board decides to expel me from the house… it would be bad.

I’m not an “outside spider.” It’s dangerous out there. There are birds and other nasty predators. It’s still cold this time of year, and rainy. And most of all, challenging to gain entry into another home and Association. Especially if the word gets around about what I’ve done. And it will get around. Spiders are atrocious gossips.

I have to make the big play. You may say that I’m brave or crazy or stupid or whatever you want, but I’ve never felt so committed as at this moment. So sure of my path.

You are a mighty huntress,” I keep telling myself. “You. Are. Ready.”

There goes the alarm. The man will hit the snooze button at least once. He’ll come down the stairs, now brightly lit, cat in tow. Recall that he is dull before coffee. He’ll footslog along the same route as every other day, with the cat spazzing out over the prospect of shoveling food into her fat face.

They’ll round the corner and walk between me and the fridge, the cat mewing plaintively, running back and forth by the man’s feet. That is the crux of my plan. The cat nearly trips him up every day. Today I will increase the odds.

There are lots of sharp corners around here and a hardwood floor. It seems there’s a chance he will be killed on impact, or at least severely injured. It’s hard to tell with these big ugly meat bags. They’re so grotesquely large, it boggles my little spider brain. It seems like a good fall should cause him to bust open like a ripe melon.

I’ll let you know how it goes…