It’s spider season. As I sit here I can see at least five webs on the window of our rented house. But the webs we cleaned today are not seasonal. The guys in the new house are full-time residents, they have lived and died here, their children go to school here, they pay taxes, they visit their relatives’ graves.
What possesses people to have stone walls on the inside of their homes? Was Norman and arachnologist? Is that why he wanted to devote a whole room of his house, right up to the rafters, to the lives of spiders?
I’d hardly classify myself as a clean freak. My children think it’s a treat when we get the dusters out – a new game – but the stone is dusty, the spiders reign, the evidence of mice is everywhere. How will we ever wrest the house from the wildlife? The girls are cool with spiders (their mother isn’t) and Ruth swears she wants pet mice. Perhaps we shouldn’t bother. Should I let Ruth read Gerald Durrell?
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