Boris:RIP


boris2143.jpgWe have a spider in our house.  A tiny little thing called Boris.  Now I realise that the name Boris is a rather obvious and unimaginative name for a spider but my little boy named him Boris so who am I to argue with a seven-year-old about such things? 

I’m not sure if Boris is actually a male or a female but for the sake of the flow of my writing (which admittedly needs all the help it can get)…and because he has a boy’s name anyway, we will refer to Boris as a he.

Boris lives somewhere around the bottom of our stairs and he wanders in and out, freely and randomly.  My youngest two kids take great care when they’re running up and down the stairs in case he’s out and about.  They are terrified of squashing him.  They love him dearly.  But my eldest daughter – if she sees him she simply freezes.  And screams.  And she demands every time that I “GET IT OUT!!”

Well, no.  I vehemently refuse to evict our little squatter.  He doesn’t bother us and we don’t bother him.  Once upon a time, I would scoop up little spiders in the cups of my hands and gently place them outside.  But I would limit myself to the little ones.  No way could I ever bring myself to touch one that is bigger than my toe nail.  An empty container and a piece of card would be needed to scoop up the larger ones. 

But now I don’t even pick the little ones up because I’ve decided that to pick up a little spider, however gentle one is about it, would be a terrifying ordeal for something so tiny.  So I won’t resort to Steve Irwin-esque tactics because regardless of what anyone may think of his conservation efforts, t’is a sorry fact that he tormented the bloody hell out of his poor subjects for the sake of his entertainment ratings.  

So the spider always gets to stay, content and torment-free.  And probably throwing some big Mutley-chuckles at my spider-phobic daughter who will just have to learn to control her spider-hysteria. 

Anyway.  The other night my nephew came to visit.   We were sat on the sofa drinking tea and catching up with each other’s news.  The kids were in bed and it was all nice and quiet.   As we were chatting, I spotted little Boris peering out from the side of the sofa.  I watched as he set out on his epic journey across our lounge carpet.  I wondered about him…about what he was up to.  On a quest for food?  Looking for some arachnid luuurve perhaps?  Who could tell?  Anyhoo, he was happily minding his own business so I turned my attention back to my wittering nephew only to find him sliding, steely-eyed, down the sofa, furtively stretching his leg out towards our beloved Boris…

(sudden sharp intake of breath)

“That is our Bor…”

Splatt!

“That was our Boris”

So.  Poor Boris is no more.  And the kids, they haven’t thus far noticed his absence.  Do I lie to spare them their anguish? Tell them he has probably found a life-mate and moved on?  Or do I tell them the truth…that he was murdered-in-cold-blood by their ex-favourite cousin and let them hate him for a few seconds until they forget all about dear little Boris and fall in love with the next furry insect that decides to move in with us?

Life-changing decisions folks.  What to do?

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13 responses to this post.

  1. Oh dear Earthie, this is a very sensitive issue. Do you sit your children down and tell them the truth, i.e. exactly what happened blow by blow, as you did here, or do you lie and tell them ‘Boris’ went off with a hairylegged female for a bit o’ leg o’er (8 of em!)

    Personally, I would go for the latter… 😈

    Reply

  2. Yup, I’m with you on this one misslionheart, a little story will suffice. Maybe it went off to see the Queen for a wee cuppo teeea. 🙂

    Reply

  3. Aww..This reminded me of the time ..when i had two lovebirds at home…and one mornin i get up..and there was only one…my parents they’d forgotten to close to cage properly…so one flew awaay…and we decided to give away the other one. I believed every bit of the story…it was many years later that i found out what actually happened… i would be horrifed if they had told me what had actually happened… 😦

    If u think they’ll take it badly…u should probably lie to them… the life-mate story sounds good :p

    Reply

  4. LOL. Lovin’ your one MissyL. He ran off with the hairy-legged female. But t’is not at all suitable for tender young ears.

    And I can’t use Matty’s suggestion because, as an anti-royal, I refuse to bring Queenie into this. And I’m not (make-believe) sending my Boris to live with that awful toss-pot, Prince Philip.

    Flowerchild, thank you. I will go with the life-mate story.

    Sigh. My kids will believe any rubbish I fill their heads with.

    Reply

  5. Oh EP that was a wonderfully written and truly sad post.
    Mimi says, after sitting here on the couch w/ be reading over my shoulder, “that if they start to miss Boris you should go out and find
    ‘The Who”s Greatest Hits, and listen to the song called ‘Boris the Spider'”.

    I think you should tell them, straight up.
    Poor Boris…… the spider, not the drunken idiot.

    Here are the lyrics….

    Look, he’s crawling up my wall
    Black and hairy, very small
    Now he’s up above my head
    Hanging by a little thread

    Boris the spider
    Boris the spider

    Now he’s dropped on to the floor
    Heading for the bedroom door
    Maybe he’s as scared as me
    Where’s he gone now, I can’t see

    Boris the spider
    Boris the spider

    Creepy, crawly
    Creepy, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly

    There he is wrapped in a ball
    Doesn’t seem to move at all
    Perhaps he’s dead, I’ll just make sure
    Pick this book up off the floor

    Boris the spider
    Boris the spider

    Creepy, crawly
    Creepy, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
    Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly

    He’s come to a sticky end
    Don’t think he will ever mend
    Never more will he crawl ’round
    He’s embedded in the ground

    Boris the spider
    Boris the spider

    Reply

  6. OK, how embarrassed for not knowing this song? I suppose everyone else does but me? I think we missed the first paragraph of this post. sorry

    Reply

  7. It’s ok Loneranger. I didn’t know the song either. I’m just comforted by the fact that such acclaimed songwriters couldn’t think of a more imaginative name for a spider either. 😀

    Reply

  8. Another Boris passed away these days, Yeltsin. Why did it occur to you to give a spider a Russian name?

    Any connotations?

    Reply

  9. Jose, my little boy named him Boris but who knows what subliminal messages I’ve planted in his head during his upbringing that made him choose the name Boris.

    Ye gods! Our dear dead Boris has become an overnight LEGEND. He will now be forever remembered as being a drunken, sex-mad overthrower of communism.

    Boris for a posthumous Knighthood! Yay! Go Boris.

    Reply

  10. I keep peaking at your blog hoping for another post, because I don’t know what to say. This would all be horribly funny if there were no children involved. But, alas, there are. I hope you told them the truth and that they took it well.

    Reply

  11. Hi Helen.

    I haven’t told them anything yet because they still don’t seem to have noticed that he’s not been around. So much for their fondness for him! Lol. Yes, it is quite funny really.

    Reply

  12. Boris is alive and well. He merely took a little vacation and came over to our place. 😎

    He’s hanging out in my eldest daughters bedroom. We’ll send him packing soon!

    Reply

  13. Take good care of him then. He’s precious.

    Reply

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