Arachnophobia, the irrational or disproportionate fear of spiders, is a common phobia. And the least examined.
Each spider who crawls into my apartment is named Felix, for no obvious reason. In a home with three cats, Felix’s demise is probable, if regretted. After all, anything moving is either toy or treat.
At least it’s a natural death.
Most children attack when they see Felix, even when it’s no threat. Theirs is an inflamed imitation of their elders.
I’ve dangled toilet paper into the tub so Felix could escape and I could shower.
I don’t claim Felix and I are close. I still jump when it drops onto my book’s page. I even slap at my pal before I regain control. My unthinking response is visceral and culturally grounded.
Yet few creatures are more domestically valuable than Felix. It’s far more concerned with eating pests than with biting us. It’s Felix’s appearance – the intelligent legs and tiny brain as it knits or skitters along.
Our aggressive reaction is symbolic of callous, earthly domination. Felix creeps us out and must be demolished.
