It's a good story.
Though I wasn't there, and I'm likely getting all of the details wrong.
I don't know why I have such an interest in venomous things.
That most people find gross.
When I told my mother that I got a tarantula, she said:
"Oh yeah? Now, what did I do wrong raising you that made you want to get that?"
How about keeping me in piano lessons for five years?
Though, I must say, keeping me out of Tae Kwon Do was a good call.
I'm frightful and squirrelly enough as it is.
Repeated kicks to the face and ribs wouldn't have helped matters.
Then again...
For something with a brain the size of a B.B., he had a certain charm.
Or she.
Whatever it was; I never did learn its gender.
One of the Critter Keepers I kept it in had a pink top.
The other had a blue top.
And he (it) always seemed happier in the blue one.
So, in all liklihood...
Anyway, Turpin's sister was taking care of him.
Because I was in Banff smoking drugs.
Hardly an environment to care for an invertebrate in.
Claire had this cat.
I can't remember what they called it.
Anyway, one day Claire and Turpin came home to find the spider.
On the kitchen table.
And the cat was in the corner of the room.
Not moving.
Now, the spider had sustained injuries.
So they put him back in the Critter Keeper.
But he eventually went the way of Charlotte, and bought it.
To be honest, I wish he'd killed the cat.
"If' I'm goin' down..."
That kinda thing.
One day I hope to head to Australia.
Where I can see such abominations in their natural habitat:
The kitchen cupboard of the boarding house I'm staying in.
edit: This is the Facefuck message Turpin sends me afterwards.
It was too funny to not include:
I commented on your spider blogpost.
It's way funnier the way it actually happened.
Because what actually happened involved me dabbing vaseline on something I didn't want to touch with Q-tips.
And the cat was STIFF.
And claire was just bawling and bawling and swearing and yelling and being absolutely useless.
Like.... just BAWLING.
2 comments:
Claire was going to have a party, so she wanted to clean out his cage (I don't know why). The cat (Pud) was always stalking Pedro, so she took him into the bathroom so Pud couldn't get at him.
But Pud was in the bathtub (or something like that).
Long story short, I came home and found that Pedro had sustained life-threatening wounds and the cat was on its back, entirely stiff.
So I put vaseline on the spider, and hoped that the reason it looked like it was dead was because he wasn't. The cat was too freaky to deal with and later revived itself.
I put vaseline on the spider because I googled "what to do if your tarantula is oozing gross fluid."
And because I've always wanted to.
Peter reminded me that the spider's name was Peso.
Post a Comment