Last night I was sitting in the living room, feet up and watching TV, when a 300-pound spider crawled out from under the couch. I grabbed my handy fly swatter and gave chase. The spider ran under the entertainment center. So, I ran for the Raid. (Anyone who believes ran will believe the rest of my story.)
I sprayed Raid under the TV center, into the registers, along the door jambs and anything else I could imagine holding 300-pound spiders and considered the battle over. However, I had forgotten that Raid ant and roach killer is ineffective unless sprayed directly onto the furry little backs of furry little spiders. Several minutes later, that 300-pound spider came wobbling out from under the TV.
Once again grabbing the flyswatter I cautiously advanced. Had to keep him out from under furniture where he could lurk until unsuspecting bare feet came into range of his lion-sized mandibles. I could tell he was lacking a few faculties for he herded easily away from his lair into a clear space for swatting. I swatted, he jumped! I hate jumping spiders! Bam, bam, bam! That flyswatter was smokin’! Soon there was nothing left of the 300-pound spider but a curled up mess of legs and a few hairy brown spots.
And Hizzonner, snoozing snugly in the bedroom, never even knew of my courageous act ensuring our safety for another night. At least not until next morning when I used my matter-of-fact-you-better-listen voice and said, “It’s time to spray for spiders!”
Fall is here. Weapons are ready. The war has begun!