Declaration of War

Dear Huntsman Spider Steve,

Seventy-two hours ago, we settled on a pact of non-aggression.

You claimed sovereignty over those parts of the house above the picture rail, while my dominion lay below. You promised to keep out of my sock drawer and to not chase me around the house. In return, I promised not to flush you down the toilet or squish you with my boot, so help me God. We mutually agreed that neither party would watch anything on Channel 10, and that I would go out on Friday nights so that you could watch Midsomer Murders without interruption, and I could watch Adam Hills' Last Leg on Wednesday nights.

Inevitably, our feelings for one another grew.

But you lied.

Before long you were encroaching below the picture rail and seeking to annex my territory for yourself. You made a beeline for me while I was minding my own business and doing some late-night reading. You tried to crawl into my handbag to ambush me.

The veil of illusion had been torn cruelly from my eyes. I wept, bereft and mourning for our lost love. My soul ached at your betrayal.

It was apparent this was to be a fight to the death. You fought, grim-faced and determined, until the end. It was a mighty battle which shall be told for generations to come.

I honour you, my fallen enemy.

Ultimately, howeer, there can be only one.