I told you that you should be frightened about this video thing, didn't I? Well, here you go . . video, taken last fall, of the spider by my garage. (This entry is NOT ARACHNOPHOBIC FRIENDLY.)

I'd read that spiders groomed themselves like little bitty many-legged cats, but had never actually seen this. Well, this particular spider, who I'd been trying to photograph all summer without much success (it built its web in front of the overhead light at the corner of the garage, which was awesome to look at but a bit much for my camera to handle), apparently got so accustomed to my harassing it that it felt comfortable letting me watch it clean up. And I had my camera. Sometimes life is cool like that.

This was . . either the very last or second-to-last time I ever saw this spider; I suspect it left this world shortly thereafter, hopefully having left an egg sac somewhere . . not that the world is particularly lacking in this species of spider, I see tons of them around, but I grew fond of it over the course of the summer and I'd like to think it got to have a meaningful little spidey life and pass on its genetic code and all. (Also, I am presently doing that starving-artist thing and living with family, my younger sister hates spiders, and my dad would probably have killed the spider if my sister happened to see it and freak. I'm unsure of the odds of him telling me about it if that occurred, as I'd mentioned being fond of the spider, and he'd told me not to tell him where it was if that was the case, etc., etc. . . hopefully he didn't kill it. Hopefully it just died of naturally causes on account of it being fall.)

Anyway, funny story, to do with baby-making spiders . . sometime around August I was outside in the evening trying to photograph this spider, when I see a smaller spidey of the same species trying to climb into its web. Now, I know that spiders will be cannibals given the opportunity and I'm a bleeding-heart sucker for creatures trying to win Darwin awards, so of course, I shoo the smaller spider away.

Few nights later, it's back. I shoo it away again, noticing as I do so that "my" spider is behaving very oddly for a creature whose web is being invaded - it's not pouncing. Huh, I think.

I'm unsure how many times this repeats - two or three at least, I think - before a little light bulb goes on over my head.

. . . males are smaller than females.

And suddenly the smaller spider's persistence, "my" spider's lack of aggressiveness, etc., made a great deal more sense. So I let them be, poor things - I'd been repeatedly ruining their romantic evening. (Of course, she may very well have eaten him afterwards, I'm unsure if this particular sort of spider does that - I know some of them do - but oh well, he was clearly willing.)

So now that I've rambled at length about the life and times of the following spider . . . I present the spider, grooming itself like a little cat:




(Sorry about the few seconds of blank blackness; the garage light went out. It's on a motion sensor; apparently moving spiders are not enough to keep it on, and I need to learn to wave my other arm around while keeping a video camera steady if I want to rely on said light.)