My response to a stray animal wandering into my house is radically different depending on the animal.
A kitten:Feed him. Pet him. Try to find his owner. Listen to the children beg me to keep him.
Kill him violently using any nearby object.
With a kitten I am protector, healer and savior.
With a spider I am judge, jury and executioner.
The size of the spider doesn't affect the force of the blow.
The spider is as big as the head of a pin.
I still swing the fly swatter like I'm driving a railroad spike.
I want to make sure, you know?
Don't want him to come at me all full of rage.
"Better make your first shot count, human! It's the only one you get!"
It's shameful, really.
I deem certain creatures worthy of death because they creep me out.
Animals don't do that.
A lion doesn't say, "Eww! Kill that zebra! He gives me The Willies!"
It's just certain kinds of animals.
The icky kind.
A beetle in my yard sends me looking for a rake or a hoe.
"I have gazed upon thy hideousness! Die fowl creature!"
But I see a baby bird in the yard...
"Don't touch it! It's mother will ignore it! It'll be doomed!"
One minute I'm admiring the beauty of a dew-covered web...
the next minute I'm mashing the web's creator with a shoe.
In my version of the world, squirrels would spin webs.