Itsy Bitsy Fritsy 9: Betrayal
Thinking about Konrad’s question, “Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?”
I know in my heart I’m doing it for the good of the community. Pursuing this vendetta against the man. And I will continue to serve my spider sisters and brothers, even if they prefer otherwise or wish that I was dead.
I’m choosing to take pride in my impressive achievement earlier today. I engineered the downfall of a truly enormous prey, a gazillion times larger than me. But did I think he would actually die from the fall? Maybe not, although you never know.
There was a greater chance that he could have been knocked unconscious or injured in some way. Had he been knocked out, I could have waited for the cat to go away, and then tried to close off his air passages with a combination of webbing, and dead bugs, or something…
Okay, so maybe I hadn’t completely thought it through, but I was all pumped up with the mighty huntress thoughts and got it all worked up in my head that I could handle him like any prey. And yeah, okay, I guess I exceeded my capabilities just a tad.
But it’s done, now. No use dwelling on lost prey.
Note to self: “Stay in the web.”
It’s not so done. Somebody tipped off the HSA board. Apparently there was an anonymous tip about the man’s tumble this morning. And the threats. (Dammit Konrad, you weasel.) Although I wasn’t mentioned by name, I’m clearly being blamed for anything man-related these days. You should see the looks I’m getting. You should hear the pissy remarks. It’s so unfair.
(And it’s really all the cat’s fault this time, anyway. She’s the one who tripped him.)
The board ordered everyone to the emergency shelter by four o’clock, in anticipation of the man’s usual homecoming time. The mood is ugly, with everyone being forced into close quarters and lots of anxiety about food. I’m not very popular at the moment. I tried to argue that they were overreacting, but they shushed me. (I’ve never been shushed so much in my life as in these past few days.) “We don’t know what he might do, thanks to you,” they said.
(Oh, and you know what? I’m very very very sorry that poor Ariane just got done laying her eggs. Okay, spider community? I’m sorry.)
As I write this, we’re still waiting for the man to come home. He’s late, again. Everyone’s convinced we’re facing chemical annihilation. (“He’s probably in the bug spray aisle at Home Depot right now,” Boris said a few minutes ago.)
I’m mostly worried about getting kicked out of the house, which seems likely now. Unless I can somehow turn public opinion around, but that doesn’t seem promising. They’re not at all interested in what I have to say. They won’t accept my assurances that I can make things right. Liselotte said I’d done enough, thank you, and that we would discuss my “status in the community” later.
They’re going over contingency plans. In addition to being the emergency shelter, this place is also the evacuation staging area. We have a route to the outside from here, although no one wants to go out there. Liselotte is looking for volunteers for a possible scouting expedition to the next house.
I’m mulling over another Man Plan. The call to shelter this afternoon got me thinking about something.
And I’m willing now to take suggestions on how to get this guy. Someone commented earlier about hiring a hitspider. I’m willing to consider that, but are there any other ideas?
(I’m not concerned anymore about the cat reading this and getting wise to me. I checked her browser history. She only goes to a few web sites. Mostly “mice porn.” Sicko.)