Today I feel like a small child, compelled to ask endless “why”s. Why do we grow such long hair on our heads? Why are there so many stars in the sky? Why do people hate spiders? I am never satisfied with the answer.

I am told that they do not have faces or an acceptable amount of legs. They don’t look at all like babies. They scuttle. They are unpredictable. They don’t activate the right part of our brains. They are “cool” at best; never “cute”. 

I do not like this truth. I like it even less that I agree with it. And yet, humans have always pushed back against the nature of things: for better or for worse. My mother’s friend houses a rescued snake for her daughter. She also houses a pug, a dog that has been bred to choke and splutter for the privilege of its squashed little nose. She tells me how disgusting the snakes’ dead, frozen mice are while her dog heaves and snots on her leg. Our hospitality and our cruelty is never consistent.

This is why I choose to take a deep breath when I see you in my bathtub. I will not wash you down the drain, or even take you outside to die. I will not hate you or wish you away. Against all odds, we will exist in peace.

ps. I will turn the light off for you. I heard you like the dark.