He ran swiftly accross the room, leaving me startled and breathless. Both my wife and I immediately stopped what we were doing and ran behind him, trying our hardest not to scare him and to catch him at the same time. There were a few moments of terror, as he jumped, righed before he landed on the box. In only a few seconds our hearts skipped a hundred times. Cold sweat covered our skins and our liver flashed before our eyes. All the joyful moments of serenity and naive bliss, all the futile hope that 'those things always happen to someone else', all empty reasurances...all of them in vain. Now it was happening to us. And it couldn't be undone. It meant a huge future change, a constant care and worry, a neverending necessity for vigulance. For as it happened once, meant that it would happen again. And what if that time he wouldn't land on the box, but say on my hand, or foot? Then I would probably end up in a hospital!
...
So, there he was, standing on the box, staring at me and flashing me with those deep, vicious eyes - a look I will remember for a long time...and then only one thing was left to be done, as nothing had helped me in the past two minutes: it was going to be me or him. So I summoned my last bits of courage, jumped with an inhuman strength and hit him on the head with the hard part of the sole of my 'Vans'...and he fell...
It was over, but I was still shaking. From now on we would have a whole new appreciation for poisonous Australian spiders. And we will most certainly invest in good doors and good poisons! Amen
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