I'm pretty sure Gary's dead.
Gary is a spider that was living in our upstairs bathroom. I'm not sure for how long, but Scott and I have been keeping tabs on him for about 2 weeks. Not that we went out of our way to do it, but Gary made it easy. He was right above the shower stall.
Cheeky 8-legged perv.
I have a rule about spiders. If they are in my bedroom, I have to kill them because I am a mouth-breather. If they are anywhere else in my place - I'll catch them and set them free. Or I might even let them stay if they're small enough and look like they want to eat bugs.
But back to Gary in the bathroom.
Every morning when I flicked on the light and started the water running, Gary would unfurl from the tight ball he'd been sleeping in and stretch out. Sometimes he'd walk around a bit. Mostly not though. He seemed pretty tired. I wondered if he was dying. I mean - what the hell kind of bugs did he expect to catch in a bathroom in cold weather? I never saw him eating anything. Or making a web. He was just hangin' there.
After a week, I started getting concerned.
"Do you think Gary's shrinking?" I asked Scott.
He shrugged. But I know he cared about Gary. He named him, for crying out loud. That's the #1 rule - never name ANYTHING. It's the first step to becoming emotionally attached. Which is why if I have kids, they will be identified by a series of pops and clicks.
I googled how to feed a spider. Apparently, you can give them houseflies. No houseflies in March. I didn't think he'd want dog food either. So, I left him. Meanwhile, Gary just kept migrating within the same 2 foot radius above the shower.
One morning he was on the wall instead of the ceiling. I tried to catch him, but he fell where we keep the plunger. So, eew.
The next morning, he was on the baseboard beside the toilet. He stayed there for a good, long time. Gary had no energy to climb back to the ceiling. But there was a Mad Magazine lying on the floor right beside him. So, at the very least, maybe he was entertained.
The problem is, Scott didn't know Gary was beside the toilet. Scott walked in there one day, stepped on the magazine and ended up squeezing Gary between it and the baseboard. I just so happened to be right behind Scott and shouted - "GARY!!" I grabbed the magazine and saw Gary all blobbed up on one of the pages.
"How did you know Gary was down there?" Scott asked in amazement.
Before I could reply - Gary, like the natural gymnast he is, untangled his legs and started crawling away in a panic.
I ran to the patio door and shook Gary off the magazine. He fell between the slats. It was a nice enough day. But not nice enough for housefly babies, I don't think.
Yeah, Gary's probably dead.