No Pets Allowed

Claire was not allowed a pet. The death toll on her watch was far too great for her parents to shill out cash for another belly-up fish or stiff hamster. It wasn’t deliberate, Claire was just clumsy, and forgetful, and…curious. Very curious.

Her mother was a veterinarian and her dad worked for a nature conservancy, so the whole thing was more than tragic. It was embarrassing. How could these two pillars of the community, these dedicated vegans, these good parents have a daughter like Claire? Better to smile and say that the poor child has allergies. That’s the reason, the only reason, absolutely no animals were allowed in her vicinity.

But Claire was determined. She loved the little beings. She loved how they moved. So different from people. People were slow. Scare them and the best they’ll do is jump, or crumble, or scream. What a waste. Animals snap into action and are halfway across the tank before you can blink. There are no artificial niceties with a rat. They’re just hungry. You don’t have to guess what a rabbit is thinking. They’re scared. A snake won’t make fun of you as soon as you turn your back, they’ll simply attack. How did animals end up so clever, Claire wondered. All she did was have a look. It wasn’t her fault the knife slipped.

She tried starting a dog-walking business, but her parents shut it down before she’d clamped on the first leash. They laughed and shakily handed back the dog with its bundle of chew toys and poo bags to its confused owner, never explaining why they were still in their pyjamas. Any notices for lost pets were surreptitiously torn down from telephone poles before Claire even had a chance to see them. They hovered over her shoulder while she examined hardworking ants, letting their coffees go cold when she picked up a stick. They even wrote a note to her school, excusing Claire from the experiment when her teacher sent her home with a butterfly kit. “One day, sweetie,” was the echoing promise.

And then, “one day” came. Claire was lying on top of her sheets, staring at the branching of veins beneath her wrist when something landed on her arm. If she wasn’t looking, she would have slapped it away as an itch and accidentally, well…anyway, she didn’t. A fuzzy little spider stood staring at her, a line of silk still dragging from its bottom. Two big eyes at the front of its face clocked hers, and the other three pairs checked out its new surroundings. It stretched one leg out to the side, and then gently placed it down again.

“Hello,” Claire whispered. “Where did you come from?”

The spider waved its two front legs up in the air, then leapt onto Claire’s nose. It was ticklish and soft. She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on the tiny thing clinging to her face. She brought her hand up, slowly, carefully, and the spider crawled over to her finger, down her wrist, and hopped off onto her bed. Claire’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something to capture it. She lunged towards a plastic case her uncle Jerry had given her, and ripped out the rotund baby doll with blinking eyes he thought would be cute. The case was perfect. “Stay there,” she instructed, as she swung open the door and raced out to the backyard in search of a suitable branch. The spider stomped its feet and waited.

“Claire?” her mother followed behind, still holding the pot she had only half filled with water. They were having spaghetti. Her voice was high. Hesitant. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing,” Claire answered. She grabbed a stick and raced back upstairs, ignoring her mother’s tenuous reminder that dinner was at six. She slammed the door behind her.

The spider was still on her bed. It lifted its front legs again, then put them down. A greeting. Claire shifted. Normally, animals ran from her. She assumed it was a scent thing. She crouched down, pointed to her chest, and said very slowly, “I. Am. A. Friend.” She paused, then added, “Don’t believe what you’ve heard.” She turned away from it to quickly organize the stick inside the plastic box. She grabbed a pencil and stabbed a few puncture holes in the case. Satisfied with her efforts, she picked it up, stood it on her bedside table and opened the lid. “Here,” she said, and moved back.

Claire held onto her hands, demanding that they not grab her new friend. The spider climbed into the box, using the stick like a set of stairs right to the top, and immediately started building a nest. Claire let herself breathe. Separated by clear plastic, she trusted herself to take a closer look. The spider swung its bottom back and forth and turned in circles as fine strands of silk built up around it. It took breaks every so often to stop and stare at Claire with its dewy eyes. Its fangs clicked together. They emerged from curved green sacs, like a tiny emerald moustache. Its fur stood up on its head, as though it had just come out of the shower, and a light band separated the black of its leg from each foot, so that it looked like it was wearing little shoes. Claire sighed. Her fingers softened and her shoulders relaxed. She was in love.

“Knock, knock,” her dad opened the door, failing to actually knock. “Just wanted to uh…” his eyes scanned the room, but he didn’t see the spider. He met Claire’s gaze and smiled. “Just checking to see what you want for dinner.”

“Aren’t we having spaghetti?”

“Right, right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “So, everything’s okay up here?”

“Sure, dad.”

“Great,” he hesitated. “Your mom said…”

“What?”

He smiled. “Nothing. Dinner is at six, okay champ?”

“Okay. Oh, dad?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“How hard is it to catch a fly?”

“A fly?” her dad’s eyebrows scrunched down and lifted back up as he considered the possible ramifications of his daughter’s latest curiosity. People caught flies all the time. They whacked them with rolled up newspaper and hung sticky traps from their beautifully appointed porches. No one would bat an eye. There would be nothing to bury, anyway. He shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty easy, I think.”

“Good,” Claire smiled. “I’d like to catch some then.”

“Okay…uh…sure.” Her dad tried to smile, then tapped on the wall instead. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was uncomfortable or scared. “Okay, sweetie. Don’t forget…”

“I won’t,” Claire interrupted. She glanced at her spider and grinned. “Dinner is at six.”