We have a rather nasty spider in my area called a Hobo Spider. These little beasties can bite and you won’t know you’ve been bit until your toe or finger or whatever swells up like an overcooked weenie ready to explode. I am barefoot about 90% of the time, so my husband decided that I needed a sticky trap in the studio. If you’re not familiar with these things, they are made from cardboard and are coated with a substance so sticky that I swear a moose couldn’t dislodge itself.

So…I’m in the studio with a couple of students and my cat, Tucker. The studio door is propped open so Mama squirrel can come in and out as she pleases for her peanuts. They’re shelled, so she’ll sit right there and munch at the small pile on the floor.

We’re all making a fuss over Mama and Tucker gets in a snit, huffs himself over to a corner to pout, and plunks his fuzzy little kitty butt down. Upon plunking said butt down there arose a screech very much like a bugling elk and straight away he launches vertically all fur and claws and teeth, doing a credible imitation of a pogo stick. He hits the ground whirling, trying to get away from the thing that’s latched on to his bottom. He spins himself through us all and right out the studio door. He’s whirling & bouncing like a methed-up rabbit and he’s headed straight for a large pine tree – and up he goes.

Students momentarily forgotten, I rush out to assist my cat, trying really really hard not to laugh. I’m standing there, assessing what action I should take. There’s only one…I’ve got to climb that tree. He’s about 10 feet up, and I start my ascent, reassuring both Tucker and my students that it’ll be over shortly. I arrive at a branch near Tucker and reach for him when an awful realization overcomes me…I’ve got to somehow get this thing off Tucker’s butt…in the tree…because there’s no way I’ll be able to carry him down.

Then the yowling transforms into a growl that could only originate from the deepest bowels of Hell.

That wipes the smile right off my face.

Ten feet up, barefoot, no gloves and I’m facing off with a critter that makes a honey badger look like a puppy. Scissors were out of the question; I wasn’t keen on the idea of one more sharp thing in that tree with me. That only leaves one option…and I’d best get it over quickly. I prop myself and lift Tucker off his perch. I make a tentative tug on the offending spider trap and all Hell breaks loose.

I manage to hold on to him, wishing that I had opposable digits on my feet. I get a firmer grasp the trap just as Tucker decides to attach himself to my face.

I’m now hooked up to 14 pounds of righteously pissed-off cat. His two front paws are locked solidly to my head and two back paws are embedded in my collarbone, plus he’s trying to chew my scalp off.

Amid my reassurances and shouts that sounded a lot like “Son of a bitch!”, I give that trap a giant yank. And amongst breaking branches and falling pine cones and even LOUDER shouts that sounded even MORE like “Son of a bitch!“, Tucker figured my head would provide the perfect traction to launch himself out of the tree, taking a small section of my scalp with him, and leaving the trap with me.

I manage to limp myself down, looking like a one woman battlefield, with pine needles hanging in my hair, twigs attached in various places, blind in one eye from the blood and a spider trap that resembles a small rodent stuck to my forearm. Meanwhile Tucker is aground, hind legs straight up in the air, inspecting what no doubt is a very tender bald spot, and giving me that “It’s your fault” stink-eye only a cat can muster.

I’m thinking “weenie-toe” is a better option than being connected head-first to Tucker any day.