Coexistence

If you were to poll the tiny creatures that have decided to take up residence with me, I think you’d likely discover that I tend to lord over my cozy little domicile with more of a passive hand than an iron fist. Relatively speaking, anyway. I tolerate and occasionally even welcome their coexistence within the realm of reason.

For example, I don’t mind looking like a maniac in the name of ushering a fly out of an open window and at the risk of allowing additional dipterans to enter, rather than just going the swatter route.

It’s fine by me if ladybugs want to hang out around the window sills, so long as they don’t make themselves too much of a nuisance. Besides, the spiders will likely corral and keep their numbers in check anyway. Because…

Spiders are welcome to set up shop in the corners and live out full and peaceful lives. I’ll even gladly sweep up all discarded sources of sustenance and their own eventual carcasses before clearing out the corner and making a clean, livable space for the next inhabitant. Such a munificent king!

Since language barriers persist, I expect my guests to employ what I consider to be a common-sense approach to insect / human rapprochement. Spiders should limit their movements to off-hours or during my absence. If my subliminally sent guidelines are not adhered to, I will more often than not attempt eviction via the piece of paper and cup method. But it’s not guaranteed. Some trespasses are judged more harshly.

If one shows up in the shower, that’s an instant down the drain death sentence. Those who dare to make an appearance on my bedding will instantly and indignantly meet their maker via the business end of a wadded-up paper towel. Speaking of appearance, that can be a factor too. Something I’m not proud of.

If you’re a gangly, slow-moving daddy long legs type of arachnid that likes to keep your traveling radius tight, you’ll almost assuredly get a pass. But if you’ve got a big body, look hairy, have those two fang-looking things extending out of the front of your face, or scamper too quickly, you’re done. Move slowly but don’t be creepy about it, and keep all eight of those twitchy little legs where I can see them. And god forbid you try some shit like sneaking into a shoe - that accidental big toe termination is on you!

Ants are disallowed entirely. The house-dwelling asshole versions, anyway. They offer nothing in the way of symbiosis and exhibit a flagrant disregard for boundaries. Thatcher ants in the yard are welcome…in the yard.

All of that said, the comfort of female guests supercedes or nullifies any and all previously enacted or inferred codes of tiny creature coexistence. Perhaps I’m not so benevolent after all, but given the fact that nobody’s chipping in for rent, I feel like I’m being more than fair.