If I don’t kill it, it will crawl on me in the night. It will bite me under my covers. It will lay its eggs under my skin.
I smack the wall with my swatter, but its eight legs are faster. It scurries into a corner — a smart move, it knows I can’t smash it there. But I am a patient hunter. I sit on the edge of the toilet and wait.
It makes its move, and I strike … a direct hit! I pump my fist, victorious. My home is once again secure.
I raise the swatter, knowing I’ll have to scrape bug guts from my wall, a small price to pay for a successful kill. But the spot is clean. The spider has escaped. And now I’ve made it mad.