Bits and pieces
Arthur’s next moment came when he was hiding down beside the couch. I don’t know what his game was that day; whether it was a change of view or whether he had taken up spying on me as he seemed to be peeking over the armrest. It could have also been a mere token of intimidation because, when I looked closely, I could see he was sitting there with one back leg sticking out like a tail, giving him the appearance of a rather large scorpion. Statistically, he wants to thank his lucky stars that I was wearing my glasses at the time otherwise he could have copped a slipper to the back of his head. It was an extremely cunning disguise and there was no doubting that he could have been bashed, with me lamenting the decision later as there would have been no questions asked when the swipe was swung.
It was at this moment I began to wonder about how dangerously Arthur liked to live. If he’d been human, he would have been classed as a right daredevil.
This was not to be the case I found out a week later.
It had been a couple of months since Arthur had graced me with his presence. We were getting along just fine, and we had a daily routine that gave life an interesting start to each morning, with me doing the come out, come out, wherever you are thing with him when I hit the lounge room.
On this particular morning, I found him on the wall near one of my bookcases. It was the first time that he had ventured to this position and I applauded him on his literary stance. He sat there as he usually did - hardly moving, (he’d stopped waving good morning weeks back) even when my brother Terence and my sister-in-law, Tonya dropped by for a quick cuppa on their way back to Riverbend.
We were enjoyed our visit together, chatting away about this and that when Terence’s mobile phone rang loudly, playing an upbeat song that sent Arthur rushing off to hide behind the nearest bookcase. We all laughed at his obvious lack of appreciation for modern technology and continued with our conversation.
It was only later, when I noticed Arthur’s continuing absence that I wondered at where he had gone. I was to keep on wondering for several days as he refused to show his furry face.
When he finally made a reappearance, it was in the spare bedroom nearest the lounge, on the wall under the window. He’d clearly decided that he no longer wanted my company. Was it the phone, I often speculated? Or was he just fed up with me? So be it, I thought eventually, hoping that he’d miss me and change his mind.
But it was not to be as some months later, when doing a bit of a spring cleaning, I found Arthur again. His little dried up carcase was lying on the floor, still and inanimate. Sadly, I realised, he had come to the end of his short life. I was not to have the pleasure of his company ever again. If anyone in the past had said to me, I would miss spiders if they didn’t exist, I would have laughed heartily, but the last laugh would have been on me, because I did miss my little friend. I missed him more than I could ever have imagined. So here’s to Arthur, spider companion, and entertainer.
Cheers, and thanks for the memories.
The next time I sighted Arthur he’d found a little place next to the microwave. I didn’t notice him for hours, even when I was spending time at the bench making coffee and cups of tea, and my salad sandwich for my lunch. I was completely oblivious to his hairy existence as it sat in the darkened wooden alcove. He must have chuckled his way through the morning thoroughly enjoying my ignorant bliss.
It was as the light and shadows shifted throughout the day that the unusual shiny duo of his two front eyes could be seen high up on the left-hand side.
At first, I wondered what on earth it was it that sat there unblinkingly quiet, staring back at me as I peered with a frowning face into the enclosure. It was when I finally identified my arachnid friend that I’m sure he winked at me. I had to give him 9 out of 10 for this hide-out as he’d been sitting there for most of the day and I hadn’t spied him. But the game was now up, and I guess he no longer felt a thrill in seeing me come and go throughout the day without knowing of his presence. Within minutes – when I wasn’t looking - he’d moved to another location with all the stealth of the Scarlet Pimpernel. I wasn’t to see him again for three whole days.
If you're not a writer it's hard to appreciate the time and effort that goes into the process. I know people complain about the price of books - especially paperbacks and hardbacks - but considering that some writers/authors can take up to 10 years to complete a book for publishing, they don't ask for much. And that time is a long haul; one that doesn't pay well unless thousands of copies are sold.
Most writers will be lucky to come out even with costs for editing, cover design and formatting, sometimes adding up to between $3,000 and $5,000 thousand dollars. When it is finally printed up - and sold - most get only two to four dollars per copy for their efforts. That's not a lot. So, as you can now understand, writing is more often than not done out of love ... as are most crafts.
Consider that latte or sushi you bought without hesitation for lunch the other day, then please consider doing the same when purchasing a book. You will make a writer very happy, moreso if you leave a review.
Enjoy your day, folks.
It's been some time since I posted here. I would rather write rarely about something than waffle on about nothing. So here goes.
I don't get near enough time to read as I would like but last week - while killing time between appointments - I picked up a copy of Good Omens written by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. It's a story about two angels - one's a bit tarnished and tends to hang out with the wrong sort. They are organizing an Armageddon. But as with anything that is penned by Sir Terry the book is on the zany side with a premise for things to go wrong. And Mr Gaiman ... he can be a little macabre/oddball in his works too ... yet I love them all the same.
Anyway, so far so good ... I'm only about 1/8 of the way through, and it has appealled greatly to my British sense of humour and the wonderfully weird writings of Sir Terry. I recommend it even now, so if you think you need a laugh give this book a go.
Cheers, everyone, and have a great day.
Another morning, some time on, I found Arthur on one of the lampshades. While normally it would be no big deal … this lampshade happens to be the one suspended over the middle of my rather small kitchen – a very intimidating position indeed. He was relaxed in the squidgy pose of crooked legs … the one these spiders use after you’ve belted them with a magazine and they’re trying to make you feel sorry for them. (This pose is second to the one that has these spiders curled up in a ball smaller than a Malteaser after you have managed to dispatch them. It’s designed purely to make you look like a right bully and will also have you considering repentance for what you’ve just done – you murderer, you).
So … with Arthur draped casually around the lip of the shade I was a little bit wary of how secure he was. I even wondered for an instant if it was payback for my clumsy morning sojourn a few days previous, that had him scarpering up the wall from behind the curtain like his hairy little arse was on fire.
Regardless, I made my morning coffee keeping a very cautious eye on him as I manoeuvred around the kitchen from fridge to bench to electric kettle and drawers. I then left him to it, hoping that while I drank my brew he would decide to trundle off and settle into his favourite possie beside the pantry.
But no such luck. After several subsequent trips into the kitchen for breakfast and then another cuppa he seemed determined that he would spend his day exactly where he was. I had no choice then, but to tackle my important forays after that, with a number of neck-stretching machinations than were designed to give one either a headache or a twisted spine. This proved to be uncomfortable let alone downright painful on occasions. Consequently, I retreated into the lounge-room to replan my day.
This is how it went.
Firstly, I asked him kindly if he would move, scat, relocate … aww, come on, Arthur … this is not fair. But he was stuck in his decision (though there was a moment where I thought he might be stuck in the cobweb that was draped thickly across the same lampshade). Plan B was where I wondered if I could do the relocation myself. But I did a rethink on this notion as it’s rumoured that these spiders will jump at one’s personage if they are startled. And … we’d only been friends for a few weeks so there was no telling which way this one might go!
So … it was back to the drawing board.
After several half-hearted ideas had flitted through my head, I finally decided that it was not a day for the kitchen. Arthur had persisted and won. He could peacefully spend his day on the lampshade without me hassling him. This meant that the dishes would be left on the sink until the following day (that was if he did not decide to spite me by taking up residence there for a second sit-in). Lunch was a quick get together of bread and cold meat and the last meal of the day was not what one would call a culinary delight.
To end the day, with the turning out of the light for the evening I wished him a good one and hoped he hadn’t got burnt while he was up there keeping company with the light bulb all those hours. *