Shit

This is gonna sound really dumb of me, but...

I was just washing up after feeding the birds. I saw something under the sink, so I knelt down.

Oh hay, it was Toes, the little brown house spider that had made his home in our bathroom some months ago. I remember the first time I saw him. He ran off, probably scared of the big, giant people who may squish him. I probably would have at that point. But then I saw him again, and again, and he got less and less skittish. If I saw him on the sink or the counter, I'd leave little puddles of water for him to drink. Eventually, he stopped running away from me all-together some time after he molted.

I found the molt, all webbed up in the ceiling corner, and I thought it was the best thing in the world. It was perfectly intact, and he was sitting a few inches away, pancaked just like Bob does after he gets new clothes.

Well, I finished washing my hands and, making sure Toes wasn't disturbed by the sink, went back to clean out Daniel's cage.

I came back to wash my hands again. This time, a huge mosquito buzzed me. I swatted at it. No dice. Still kept coming. So I took some toilet paper and SWAT! got him.

As I left the bathroom, my mom gave me a look.

"Oh," I said, "I just killed a mosquito."

"That's nothing," she says, proud, "you should have seen the big, brown spider I killed a little while ago."

Oh shit.

I ran back into the bathroom.

Toes was gone.

So I've been sitting here, crying over a fucking house spider.

Dumb, right?

Why aren't I crying about the damned mosquito I squished? Well, I didn't watch the mosquito "grow up" over the past three months. I didn't take pleasure in seeing the mosquito whenever I'd look under the sink.

Damnit.