What Would Issa Do?
In the moonlight stretching high across my bedroom wall, a wayward spider reveals itself. I resist the urge to crush it with a magazine, or a shoe, or to squeeze its guts out with a paper towel. I just sit in my bed, eyes transfixed on this stupefying master of evolution, while it charms me with its unyielding tolerance to gravity.
Suddenly, it slips — as if it senses my admiration — and flaunts its ability to walk away unharmed from a monumental fall. I smile as it survives the crash landing, and as it scurries across the floor, I watch the cat do what I wouldn't.
a dead mouse