Chompy The Secret Pet Spider – Where Are You?
Chompy is a secret pet of mine, that I’ve had and trained for months.
Most of you will know that I hate spiders. That’s ok, because they hate me right back. If I see them they die. If they’re too bif to stamp on or whack with a rolled-up Bromsgrove Standard, then they get shot with my air pistol.
This war has been going on for years.
I did allow a small spider caller Tarquinn to live in my bedroom for months, before he was found dead in a freak accident involving a Micro Machines Porsche 911 and possibly the Ipswich strangler (I might re-post the blog sometime), and last year there was a small jumping spider we named Pedro who lived on my desk at work until some hot-desking Nobber went and drowned him in a can of Coca Cola.
I first saw Chompy sat by the base of the toilet, where he had a spot he’d relax in (do spiders ever relax? I’m pretty sure they’re like some kind of paranoid psychopath hopped up on super strength amphetamines permanently, but whatever…) which came as quite a shock to me at first, in that “ACK! THERE’S A -ING SPIDER THERE!!!” kind of way you get when you see an unexpected spider. I grabbed the toilet brush and had a quick go at crushing his head, but he swiftly turned around and ambled off underneath the skirting board.
Partly because people think I’m a big jessie to be scared of a spider, and maybe partly because I’m getting older and more tolerant, I decided that I’d give Chompy the chance to live in harmony with me. The deal was he’d stay out the way, going back under the skirting board when I took a dump, and he’d NEVER sneak up and surprise me, and in return I’d let him have a go at eating the horde of Silverfish that invade our bathroom whenever the lights go out. It was a good deal!
Chompy was a good learner, and only once snuck out while I was sat on my throne and tried to lick my heel. When he heard me make a tiny strangled noise of fear and lift my leg up above my head possibly shooting out a bit of scared poo, he turned around and went back under his skirting board in shame.
He grew quickly on his diet of Silverfish, and got to be a good healthy size – much bigger than any spider I’d usually keep around (in one piece, anyway!).
My fiancée Lill Boo didn’t believe me at first that Chompy existed, and of course I never told her where to look, and he had a fair few months before she caught sight of him (only recently) and I had to come clean about him and where he lived.
After several days with no sign of Chompy, I’m worried for him.
Have I offended him?
Has he grown too fat on Silverfish, and got stuck under the skirting board?
Has something even more sinister happened to him?
I still call his name as I head up the stairs each day, hoping… hoping…
Where’s Chompy? I miss you, man!