Killer

Last weekend was all over the place. I'm usually very organised, so when I knew I had to play a gig in Burnie, I thought I'd make the most of the trip and go to the old house to do a bit of cleaning. Two birds with one stone and all that. Rachel said she loved cleaning and was keen to help – I was grateful, even though it meant she was a FREAK – I mean, who likes cleaning? Seriously? It's gotta be the most unrewarding job in the world. If you write a book, it stays written. If you paint a picture, it stays painted. If you clean a toilet, someone's just gonna crap in it again. Regardless, I was pleased to have another set of hands helping me.

I was determined to be ready on time – Rachel was coming at 9:30 to pick me up, I had to be ready for my gig as well as having all the cleaning stuff sorted out to take with us. It wasn't until we were pulling in the driveway of the old house that I remembered the dream I'd had the night before – the awful, terrible dream, where I'd forgotten to ask K for the key to the old house, as I'd already given my key to the real estate. But the dream was TRUE! I had forgotten the key! I never forget things like that, but man I felt like a dickhead having to tell Rachel that I didn't have a key to get in.

After a few phone calls to the real estate, and several failed attempts to break in on our own (that place is Fort Knox, I tell ya), we managed to get inside and make a start. I finished the bathroom, and decided that I was going to clean all the shelves in the house next. After being fairly involved with one set of shelves in the main bedroom, I stood back to admire my work. The fact that I'd had my head right in the cupboard meant that I wasn't at quite the right angle to see the massive huntsman spider that was sitting under the very shelf I'd just been cleaning. Argh! I'm not normally that bothered by spiders (I mean, I wouldn't marry one or anything, but I'm not really scared of them), but this one took me completely by surprise. My first instinct was to seek out the insect spray and give him a good coating. As soon as I had done that, I felt terrible. Huntsmen take an ETERNITY to die, and I had to watch him staggering around, clinging onto life, trying to get away from the invisible poison that had already sealed his fate. I was torn – should I scoop him up and put him outside, and hope that the fresh air would revive him? Should I stomp on him and end his suffering? No, I couldn't do that – I'd feel his bones crunching under my shoe, and that would be worse. Instead, I decided that the most humane thing to do would be to finish what I'd started and engulf him in a second coat of the stuff. He stumbled around like a drunk at closing time. It broke my heart. Eventually, he fell on his back, curled up his legs and died.

I felt extremely guilty. Why hadn't I just left him in the cupboard? It's not like he was bothering anyone, it was an empty house. Why did I have to kill him? He might have had a family to support. He might have had his whole little life ahead of him. And I killed him for no reason. I deeply regretted doing it – I wish I had never spotted him.

My reaction to all this puzzled me – I can sit and watch ads about the starving children in Ethiopia and feel absolutely nothing towards them, but I can't kill a spider without feeling heartbroken. Is there something wrong with me? Nobody else would have cared about killing a spider, would they? I care more about animals than I do about most people. I don't know why it is so, but there it is.

I'm sorry, little spider. :-(