While making my morning coffee, I look up to see a sea of tiny dots with tiny angled lines floating just below the ceiling. The central air kicks on and gently creates waves through the spiders’ web. Wave pools were fun as a kid, I wonder if they like it.

I take a deep breath, purse my lips and exhale upward. The web waves with my turbulent breath and a few of the dots begin to scurry while others seem to brace themselves.

“Hmm,” I think, “I hate to wipe you all out, but what can I do?”

“Vacuum,” said the cat.

“Vacuum?”

“Vacuum.”

I go to the closet to get the shopvac and of course, it’s at the back of the closet. I lean over with my left arm holding me up, my dangling arm reaches into the back of the closet looking for the vacuum’s handle.

Finding the handle, I grab it and I push my left arm against the closet’s back wall. As I turn around, I immediately feel a tug and soon everything becomes nothing but a loud crashing sound and a cloud of dust. The loose power cord gets caught on an assortment of boxes and things, snaps taut, ripping the vacuum from my hand and onto everywhere around me.

When the mixture of drywall dust and generic dust settles, I kneel down and reassemble the vacuum. I plug it in and begin to vacuum the dust that just settled.

I click on the vacuum and reach its hose toward the ceiling. The deafening sound of the vacuum drowns out the cacophony of screaming spiders, presumably.

I take the vacuum outside and dump its contents into the overflowing metal trash can behind the house, burning my hand in the process on this crispy summer morning.

I feel the bottom of my feet start to toast from the sun-drenched concrete, and I hop skip onto the remaining shade behind the house. The shaded spot offers some relief, but ultimately I really should cover the porch.

I walk back in through the archway and I feel something thin, stringy, and sticky cut across my face and arm.

I squish my face and begin to wipe my face furiously with my hands. Then I start to run my hands all over my arms to shake off anything I could have walked through.

I grab the broom and wipe away the remaining cobwebs.

As I wrap up sweeping the ceiling, I notice I have let my place go and start to sweep the floors. The black and white tile floors are now crisp and high contrast again. No dust, no cat hair, cleanliness. A bit embarrassing to be honest.

“No point in stopping,” I say to the cat.

The cat slow blinks but knows it’s time to scurry under the couch as I finish sweeping the rest of the house and vacuum the rugs.

All before lunch, the house is clean.

The last task is to take the trash bag into the dumpster in the alley. I tie off the bag and I step outside only to stop in my tracks. An eight-legged monster has made its home on the telephone pole! It isn’t a bird eater, as the birds are unbothered but inquisitive. It has nothing in its web, has it already eaten? Is this the mother of those I vacuumed up this morning?

Before I can finish my breath, the long-legged daddy changes its stance into what I can only describe as, sizing me up.

“Shoulda used fire,” I sigh.

I choke on my next breath and a jolt of electricity runs down my back. My equilibrium begins to calculate itself but not fast enough for it to notice that I have taken a step back and trip over a five gallon bucket of lord knows what.

The spider jumps from its spot on the web to the telephone pole and scurries atop the neighbor’s block wall. It sees me falling backward as it positions itself from the yard’s corner.

My ass breaks my fall and the wall stops me from falling more backward, “Fuck!”

The spider jumps off the corner like a wrestler from the turnbuckle. It lands in the yard and beelines toward me. Its legs traverse any obstacle in its way with ease.

I see it jump toward me from a few yards away, I close my eyes and sense the eight legs make contact around me and feel its body slowly moving toward me. I open one eye and can see its fangs twitch with excitement.

As it gets ready to pierce my skull with its formidable mandibles, the spider explodes into a million tiny spiders. A ticker tape parade of baby spiders showers me. I can hear the tiny spiders screaming, “Weeeee!”