Flirt, Spin, Fall in Love

It was a cold, damp October evening. Hessa the spider dangled under the front porch light, glaring at the feline beast that had once again destroyed her masterpiece. Through the window, the cat glared, watching, waiting until the morning when he would be let outside again. Hessa knew what that horrible cat would do. The same thing the evil beastie had done every morning for the past week! He’d rush over and whip his filthy paws right through her precious web. The very web she’d spent all night working on. Didn’t the feline understand that Hessa needed a big, fantastical web in order to attract a mate? It was getting colder. She needed a male spider to get pregnant. Otherwise… she shuddered at the thought of spending the winter without a mate or babies!

Yesterday’s web—a delicate, glimmering, symmetrical web—now hung in pathetic tatters, glistening weakly in the golden light. And the culprit? The monstrous, whisker-faced villain known as Sir Pouncealot. He was a fluffy gray cat with white paws and the moral compass of a tornado. Every morning, once he’d been released from the prison the human called “the house”, he launched himself at her web, taking too much joy in destroying something that had taken her hours to build. Hessa suspected jealousy—her web did sparkle rather prettily in the moonlight.

Not this time, Sir Pouncealot! No web for you tomorrow! With a heavy sigh, she scuttled away to find a new home.

Her first stop: the rose bush. Romantic, yes—but within minutes, a robin swooped by with an expression that said, “I see a snack!” Hessa shrieked and dropped like a pebble, landing safely in the dirt. Looking around, she searched for a new idea. The fence? Nope—sparrows. The mailbox? Too windy. The gutter? Dripped incessantly. She was running out of options.

Finally, she settled on a small corner between two porch steps. It was protected from the wind and those horrible birds, but a bit less obvious. It might take the evil feline a bit of time to find her new home.

The web she spun this time was more modest—a tight little spiral, functional but not flashy. She didn’t have enough time to make something more elaborate. When she was done, she looked at her web. It was meager. More pathetic than she wanted, but maybe…?

Definitely not the kind of real estate that would attract a strapping male spider ready to woo and assist in the noble duty of egg production. But it was all she had the energy to do today.

She finished her last silk anchor, fluffed the spiky hairs on her abdomen, and sighed. “Well, it’s not Versailles,” she muttered. “But it’s home.”

Then she extended one hairy leg into the night air, flashing it enticingly at passing males. A girl could still dream.

For a long time, nothing happened. The wind blew. The cat purred evilly from inside the house. A moth fluttered by and sneered. And then—finally—a shadow loomed above her web.

Hessa turned, instinctively feeling his gaze. But what she saw wasn’t a skinny, “he’ll do” sort of male spider. This man was magnificent.

The new guy watching her closely was a beast of a spider: thick-legged, glossy, four of his eyes staring right at her while the other four searched for danger. His big, brawny self radiated the confident energy of someone who’d definitely eaten a few beetles in his time. He gave her a slow nod. 

“Nice web,” he said, clearly lying.

Hessa blushed—well, as much as a spider can. “Thanks. It’s… temporary.”

Their moment of flirtation was interrupted by the soft thump of paws. Sir Pouncealot was back, tail flicking, eyes gleaming. He’d seen her. Again.

Hessa froze.

The manly spider didn’t.

He puffed up his thorax, flexed his fangs, and—shockingly—hissed at the cat. Sir Pouncealot paused, taken aback that a bug had dared to challenge him. Then, as if insulted, the cat stepped forward again.

The guy didn’t hesitate. He turned, shook his brawny butt in a very heroic way, and shot out a gleaming line of silk.

Hessa stared. The cat stared. Everyone stared.

“Come on!” the male spider shouted.

“Oh, for eight legs’ sake,” she muttered, latching onto the line just as the cat’s paw swiped through the air. Up she went—flying, flailing, and landing squarely in the hairy guy’s fuzzy arms high in the safety of a tree branch.

“I’m Bart,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk.

“I’m Hessa,” she said, feeling oddly shy despite having built her web specifically for this reason – to mate.

He carried her into a cozy nook between two leaves, then set her down, offering her a shriveled mosquito. “Caught it earlier this year. Aged to perfection.”

It was, indeed, delicious.

As night deepened, Bart scooted closer. Hessa, who had been single far too long, didn’t scoot away. Their legs tangled, their abdomens bumped, and by dawn, the two were snuggled in a silken hammock of their own making, wrapped in the kind of bliss that can only come after surviving a cat attack and an impromptu aerial rescue.

When morning light trickled through the leaves, Hessa looked at Bart’s spiky legs and sighed dreamily. “They’re hairier than mine,” she whispered, thoroughly smitten.

“Manly, right?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Utterly.”

That night, Hessa was thoroughly pregnant and content. 

“It’s getting colder,” Bart commented. “You and our babies need a good place to sleep over the winter.” She smiled, eager now. “Are you inviting me into your burrow?” she asked, wiggling one of her hairier legs enticingly.

Bart chuckled, sliding the tip of one of his legs over her spiky thorax. 

“I am.” 

Hessa giggled, then climbed out of the web hammock. They climbed down into a cozy burrow under the tree’s roots just as the water condensation shriveled into frost. As winter settled in, they guarded their soon-to-hatch spiderlings, occasionally reminiscing about the night they escaped the evil cat and found love among the leaves.

Sir Pouncealot, meanwhile, remained on the porch—confused, lonely, and covered in cobwebs he could never quite get rid of.

Justice, it seemed, was sticky.