Maybe it's something to do with water or humidity, but boats (or just marinas?) seem to attract more than their share of spiders. Sometimes it seems like they're everywhere.
The other morning I found a spider dangling from its silk thread in Calypso's salon, in the first stages of construction on a new web. I don't mind spiders too much, but this spider's latest efforts would've blocked my view of the TV: an unacceptable distraction.
He was only about the size of a lima bean, so I grabbed Mr. Ambitious and chucked him outside before he could make himself feel welcomed.
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Another time I noticed a yellow jacket hovering over over a thin, but old and intricate, web among the fenders on Calypso's rear deck. Maybe Mr. Bee dropped by from curiosity, or maybe he was just bored ... because he was skipping and darting over the web, as though intrigued and fascinated to find out for himself what created so much danger and excitement.
Meanwhile the spider, not even the size of a BB, scampered back and forth over its web in an eight-legged frenzy. Not to chase the bee away or to protect its web: No, the spider was throttling around in high gear because it was hungry and meant serious spider business.
The bee paid him no attention, and I'm sure the bee was thinking "You gotta be kidding me" because the bee seemed like an elephant compared to the size of the spider. Certainly it chose to ignore the fate and condition of the spider's previous companions.
And after the bee's struggles to free itself had only wound it deeper and more permanently into the spider's trap; as the bee realized the wings it had always depended on for flight were useless and watched the teeny-tiny spider move in for The Big Body Bite, I wonder if the bee was thinking, "Why didn't anybody tell me this was gonna happen?"
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