Infestations of arachnids, plagues of peril

In one of the understatements of the year, CBC radio announced that it was going to rain today. There was then a brief pause. “It’s going to rain, today,” it said, again. “Starting early evening, expect rainfall in the region of 100cm.” I almost fell off my chair. One hundred centimetres, isn’t that enough to fill a swimming pool? Ottawa is to be hit by the remnants of tropical storm Daisy or Donald or Dolores or something. Well, that’ll be something to look forward to. Then the inevitable CBC apology: “Sorry, that should have been millimetres.” Nervous laugh. Small cough.
 
I had hardly got myself back into reality when the next announcement was of an even greater surprise. Apparently, Ottawa is now in the range of travel for Black Widow spiders. I instantly thought back to the monster I had just relocated from the furnace room. One had been found in Almonte recently. “Don’t worry,” laughed the announcer, who probably lives in a home without Black Widow spiders or a basement, “there hasn’t been a death from a Black Widow spider for 50 years. They only attack if you try to kill them.”
 
What the actual…? How have I lived in an area in which poisonous spiders are running free without knowing it? What does a Black Widow spider look like, anyway? How long have you got if one bites you? Do they get you in your sleep if you roll over onto one? Does Amazon sell Black Widow protection kits – a full suit of armour would work. Failing that, I could dig a moat around the house maybe, fill it with oil and have a constant fire going around the house. The neighbours would understand. Or are these the spiders that can fly and leap prodigious distances? The day was turning out very, very badly.
 
Of course, had I not been up at 4, incapable of sleep, I wouldn’t have heard it. Radio off, I sat on the back deck after that, writing, listening to the birds waking, wondering if I could make coffee without waking everyone else in the house. While I hate being unable to sleep, I do relish the times I am alone, with the world in bed, silence resting like a blanket on the city.
 
The rest of the day was the inevitable disappointment. After looking on Amazon for a flamethrower, and finding that the import fees were prohibitive from “Flamethrowers R Us” (and the paperwork… ), I did some New Zealand work, tidied a few areas of the increasingly cluttered house, and crashed for a nap in the chair at around 2. Soon, I was joined by Tui.
 
In the evening, I took Ottawacker Jr. to his first league match since the break: it was a “derby”” against the other club side in the same division and the game finished 3-3 (Ottawacker Jr.’s side conceding a last-second equalizer). Other people seemed unfazed by my Black Widow anecdote. Home.
 
The rain started. Bed, following an hour’s Olympics, during which I only cried once.