Clickita clickita clickita Ye Author types away, working on something.
Motion where none should be catches her eye, dark against the smooth white firmament of the ceiling.
Clickita clickita clickita If she ignores it, it will go away.
It does not.
Clickita clickita clickita the dark shape scuttles closer, still overhead, approaching with all deliberate speed. It is…
a spider. A good-sized spider, not an enormous hairy specimen but still large.
Ye Author stands up, moving out from under the approach path. Spider advances. Author retreats. Spider advances until it is directly above the Chair of Writing.
Dang. Steps must be taken.
The Sneaker of Doom will not reach the spider.
Ye Author spies an unoccupied soft blue pet bed in the corner of the office. Ah-ha! Knock spider off ceiling, apply Sneaker of Doom, resume work.
Ye Author grabs her selected weapon, maneuvers into position, and with a mighty swipe of the pet-bed, flings the spider down from its lofty perch…
right into the book-case, where it promptly vanishes into the stacks and rows of tomes, thus precluding use of flamethrower.
I hate indoor spiders.
(Why not just spray it? Because I have become sensitized to the perfumes in bug-spray after a major over-exposure, and I would have to air out the office for several hours.)