Eight Legs Good, Two Legs Bad

This is me

What timing. I managed to chase the big lump out of the room just in time to take over her blog for Sally Quilford’s birthday. Like all two-legs, this Sally person has some very strange ideas, she wants people to hand their blogs over to … well … anyone or anything. Now I don’t know Sally, and I don’t believe in birthdays (chances are I won’t live long enough to have one), but I’ll accept any excuse to cause havoc for my pet two-leg.

It was laughably easy, I scuttled a bit, hid in her discarded jeans (she’s such a lazy lump, can’t be bothered to put clothes away), scuttled some more, and she squealed and ran away. She came back with her son, another two-leg who is totally deformed, even taller than she is and with the most amazing puffy fluffy stuff on top. He thought it was funny too. I managed to resist showing myself to him when he started to cast aspersions on my size. She might be stupid and easily-scared, but she did at least recognise my magnificence.

That was last night. Now she’s quivering in bed, trying to pretend she hasn’t seen me, reading her book and steadfastly pointing her weird big eyes the other way. Every now and then she looks over her shoulder. If I catch her doing that I wave a leg at her, that soon sends her back to her book.

She’s scratching her wrist. She thinks it’s a mosquito bite. I think she’d freak if she knew I crept onto her bed and bit her last night. Sometimes I wish I could talk. That Charlotte was a bit of a clever cow, thought she was too good for the rest of us, but at least she got her message across.

So, what am I going to do today? Problem with this house is, there are no flies. The only insects are the earwigs in the en-suite, and they’re a bit too crunchy for my liking. I’ll make a web anyway, just in case, but I don’t expect to catch much. It’ll wind her up though, she’ll forget to vacuum it for a few months and it’ll build up a nice coating of dust. It’ll hang there for ages and ages, reminding her of me.

Now I’ve got onto her precious netbook, maybe I’ll go and delete the latest draft of her novel… I bet she hasn’t backed up recently.

Or perhaps I’ll scuttle into the boy’s room and crawl all over him. That’ll show him I’m not to be laughed at. He tries to pretend he’s the big two-leg man, but he’s just as scared of me as she is. And he can’t even control his four limbs, he’s forever damaging himself. I should be able to make him shed a bit of blood, which will do as a snack.

Anyway, I’m getting a bit tired now. It’s hard work pressing these keys when you’re as slim and delicate as I am, you know. So I’ll be off to spin that web.