We were late. Rushing out the door to get downtown for an unscheduled appointment. Dragonstar wasn't even quite awake. Eyes at half-mast, bagel in hand. She ducked her head and climbed into the back seat of my little two-door compact car.
And shrieked. And flew back out of the car, pale, tripping over the seat belt in her frantic haste.
The eyes were wide now. Very wide. I thought a bee had gotten into the car. She is frightened of bees. No, it wasn't a bee.
"It's the spider."
Not a spider. The spider. This one, who has been sharing our back porch for weeks.
She is perhaps three inches long from tip to toe. Black body, striped and dotted with white and green and red. A garden spider. Her web is large, 18" across, with the characteristic zig-zag down the center. She had originally spun it between two tall bamboo sticks on the porch. But sometime during the night she had left the bamboo, crawled across the carport, climbed into my open car window and made a new web, suspended from the rear window, crossing to the headrest of the passenger seat in front.
Yeah. I would have backed out double time, too. And shrieked twice, just for good measure.
Dragonstar and I exchanged looks. We were late. We had to get the spider out. How was this going to happen?
I had no net handy, but I did have two badminton rackets nearby. Of all things. I grabbed them and was puzzling out how to put them to use when the BBPiT chose that moment (oh, happy day!) to come out on the porch to see what all the ruckus was about. I pointed into the car, handed him the badminton rackets, and prayed. He reached in and carefully caged the spider between the two rackets, brought her out and set her back in the bamboo.
"Roll up your window from now on," he said.
Will do, bucko.