I'm thinking I'm not far off in assuming that most of you don't have the shower wildlife I do. Having an outside shower pretty much means signing a contract with the living world that more or less gives access to anything that needs to get in there with you to hide from rain or hungry birds or dry times.

A few dark mornings ago, around 4:30 a.m., believe it or not, I blundered out to the shower to start my day. I trudged out with my big red maglight, opened the door and reached across the shower space (think: box tacked onto the back of my house, with showerhead coming out of house wall) to turn on the camping lantern. I hung up the towels, blearily put my hand on the round spigot thing that turns the water on and is about 6 ft. up the wall, and realized I'd put my hand on something at least as fat and long as my middle finger. And this something didn't move, which was curious. I opened my eyes all the way to register the largest praying mantis I've ever seen. And the interesting thing about it was that this creature seemed to be sound asleep. As in: out, zonked, deep in the land of Nod. Who knew insects slept, much less deeply? I can only assume this is what was going on, because I woke it up a minute later and it acted much more lively then.

See, it was on the spigot, and I had to get to work, and the spigot is the gateway to the water, which is the gateway to the HOT water, which I needed deeply. So, I gingerly reached around and under this comatose and rather impressive insect and tuuuuuuuurned the spigot with the tips of my fingers. And turned it a little more. And a touch more, and at this point had turned the mantis to about 3 o'clock, whereas before it had been in a more or less 6 o'clock attitude, with head at 12 and back legs at 6. I guess you could more accurately say that at this point it was either in a 9:15 or quarter-to-three position, but whatever, because it really woke up. Suddenly, with vigor. That eerily intelligent head with those huge reflective eyes swiveled to LOOK at me, indignant, and then the animal marched purposefully up the wall, navigated the overhang onto the roof without falling somehow, and disappeared. You could almost hear the stomping.

(And by the way, Hawaiians didn't know mantises until westerners brought them, like most of the insects you'll see around you these days on the island. Even honey bees.)

The next morning there were two, more manageably-sized, specimens snoozing near the door, just inside. I had to help them out once they woke up, as their serrated legs couldn't grab the plastic lining on the inside of the wall and they kept falling back down. It was painful to watch, and I gave them a washcloth ride up to the top of the door. Praying mantises always go UP when they need to get away—a good tip for you if you've ever got one on your hand. Hold your hand above your head, or they'll scurry up your arm and try to get to the top of your head. The only unnerving thing about them is that they WILL fly if panicked, (usually to the top of your head if there are no trees around), and as much as I like insects, I don't do well with anything free-ranging headed for my face.

Which brings me to the spider.

I like spiders, like them a lot. This may have something to do with the book CHARLOTTE'S WEB, which I wept copiously over when I was eight, or I could just be one of those aberrant freak humans. I like the big, fast, sleek cane spiders that patrol my walls because they're harmless and hunt roaches, and I like the wooly ones that somehow live in the high cold at the top of this island, at 10,000 dry and freezing feet. I like the Hawaiian happy face spiders in the forest, and I like the little browny patterned ones that jump around hunting in the grass and sometimes hop on me. I like them. They're groovy and interesting and people underestimate their worth utterly. Color me an advocate.

In fact, here are some cane spider facts, which I feel the need to present to you because they are such great (though non-native, as most spiders you will see here are) animals:

http://www.instanthawaii.com/cgi-bin/hawaii?Animals.cane

Common Name: Cane Spider
Scientific: Heteropoda venatoria
Size: 3 to 4 inches wide
Color: Light brown
Habitat: Sea level to 9,000 ft
Dangerous: No

The Cane Spider (also known as the Large Brown Spider) is one big spider. Usually the size of a can of tuna fish, this spider has a huge body and thick hairy legs.

The Cane Spider can be found on all the Hawaiian Islands and, as the name implies, the spider frequents the cane fields. Indeed, 4-wheeling through any abandoned cane field can result in a number of uninvited cane spiders attached to your vehicle.

While certainly scary looking, this spider is actually quite a helpful arachnid. The Cane Spider does not spin a web, but instead hunts for food at night. Just about any insect is fair game for this spider, including cockroaches and silverfish.

Cane Spiders are very reluctant to bite and prefer to run instead of defend. However, if sufficiently provoked the spider can bite and though rare, can inject venom. The spider's bite is small and usually does not result in any long term problems.

Cane Spiders will often find their way into houses. While nobody wants to be startled by the sudden appearance of one of these hairy beasts, they are beneficial in the home and it is not recommended to kill the spider (either let it out or let it live in the home).

Since the spider does not have a web the egg case is carried by the mother in her mouth for up to a month, during which time she will not eat and constantly guards the precious bundle of children.

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But. I was driving home the other night when this other kind of (unknown, sorry) SPIDER - fat, really fat, and long-legged—ran up my windshield on the outside. At least, it was on the outside of the car then. Fast and huge. Not a racer, like my cane spiders, who are large but lightly built, very sleek. This spider was bulbous, which is just a hard look to carry off and remain charming, sadly. Well, the long and short of it is that this one got in the car somehow and took up residence for a few days. And I would catch it out of the corner of my eye, rocketing across the passenger-side door, or hurtling over the back seat. How does something so prodigious go so FAST? I found it in the trunk once and tried wheedling and coaxing, because I could just imagine this one launching up my leg or down the back of my neck, in all innocence, while I tried to pass a slow pineapple truck on a winding road over the sea at night. And that would be the end of that, of both of us, because as much as I like spiders, I do have limits to my nerve. I couldn't talk it out of the trunk that time - it crammed its head into the seam between the car wall and the trunk bottom and tried to pretend it couldn't hear me, and I couldn't figure out a way to get it out without squishing it into the crease.

So this morning, as I was strapping something to the car roof, it hurtled out of the window at last and streaked across the roof. I was thrilled and I think it was shocked, and I tried to herd it down the car to the ground, which it of course interpreted as a threat, which caused it to streak back up toward the open window and the safety of the inside of what must have seemed like an alien spacecraft. I had a newspaper in my hand and tried for a delicate assist, sort of a flick in the right direction. A boost. Off the car. To the ground. But, see, my nerves had gone a little raw in the last couple of days and especially driving at night waiting to die, and I was a tad over-eager. My "assist" ended up smearing spider just about everywhere. Lots and lots of liquid spider. I've heard cops talk about how MUCH blood there is in the human body, but I think there was more pureed matter (I'll spare you the colors) in this one arthropod than there is in a 16-ounce smoothie. It rather put me off my feed, I must tell you. My car is white, so it was kind of a vivid experience, sorry. I find it useful to revisit this image when I want to snack late at night.

The moral of this story? Not a clue. There's not even a unifying thread, really. I've got to head to bed. I've got work to do in the shower tomorrow, probably.