These little guys, wolf spiders of the genus Pardosa, are everywhere right now. Mary brought this one home from work because apparently she thinks we don’t have enough of them here.
No worries, it scurried away shortly after I took this photo, and now owns our living room.
Hail, Ungulant!
Should be ‘Ungoliant’, Mother of Shelob and Tories.
The critters found their way to your neigborhood by the grace of Yog-Sototh, Opener Of Ways.
What does the cat think?
The cat is a coward as well as evil. She runs away from spiders and bugs.
You should take her to a movie. I’m sure she’d like “Sting.”
See, I tried to bring one of those home once but my wife wouldn’t let me. :(
In fairness, we had four cats at the time, and two of them would absolutely have murdered it in seconds. (Of the other two, one would have turned up his nose because it wasn’t a bird, and the other would have tried to make friends with it, because she was pretty stupid even for a calico.)
Scott,
Two of our cats make short work of any spiders or flying insects who dare to enter our house. I don’t think that rodents even dare to try after smelling the pungent smell of cats that our house must be exuding.
Ever see a Maine Coon turning back flips in the air to catch a fly?
PZ, I always love your posts on your spider brood. It reminds me of the time my family and I went to New Mexico to visit friends. On the way back to Illinois my father pulled the car over. It was early in the morning and my sister and mother were asleep. We got out of the car and I could see a few tarantulas crawling on the ground. Dad got a container and we scooped one up. Dad setup a cage for me. I had him for a couple years and loved having him around, such a fascinating creature. And it kept my little sister out of my room! Here’s to you, Sir Harry Hobbs (Hobbs was the city we found him in).
The provided image depicts either a black spider sitting in the crease of a pink sofa, or a black spider held between Dr. Myers’ lips. If the latter, he’s being either very stupid or very friendly.
No, but I saw that orange bird-hunting bastard leap straight up nearly seven feet from lying sprawled out on our driveway trying to grab a low-flying sparrow.