Midnight Snack

Midnight Snack

It was midnight. Jeff had been tossing and turning in bed for an hour now, and he decided to get up for a bit. Yawning, he slouched into the kitchen in the direction of the fridge. He knew there were two leftover pork chops in there, and he wanted them. Badly. Cold pork chops were considered a holy delicacy to Jeff, similar to how snails were considered a delicacy in France, or how Norwegians praised the lamb.

He stopped ahead of the fridge; something caught his attention to his right. Startled, he turned to see it was only his cat. He knew the cat hated him. In turn, Jeff hated the cat. With a passion. Sometimes he’d let him starve, or leave him out in the cold winter night, just to spite the little devil.

“Cat. Go away,” he sharply told him.

“No, I’m comfy! You go away.” The cat replied, its voice carrying hatred.

Sternly, Jeff walked toward the chair where the cat lay relaxed. “I am your master. And I am about to consume cold pork chops while listening to whiny folk music. I need the room. Alone.”

Not even bothering to shoot him a glance, the cat began a low growl. “Do you like crap in your shoes? I can do that again you know.”

He began kicking the chair softly. “That’s cute; you think you’ll be able to conjure up turds when I stop feeding you? Now get the hell out of here before I decide to flush all your catnip down the toilet.”

Enraged, the cat leaps from the chair. “NOOooooo! Not my secret stash!”

“That’s right. Get outta here. And stay out!” He yells after the small creature.

“I hate you!” Is the only reply he hears echoing from the hallway.

I should kill him. Nobody would know.

Finally alone, he returned his attention to the fridge behind him. Opening it up; it lit up the kitchen like some holy light, shining from the heavens. And there it was, among the beautiful light, the jars of jelly, several cans of tuna and a really old avocado; the plate of leftover pork chops. The moment that Jeff had been dreaming of for about fifteen minutes had finally arrived. And not a minute too soon. He would devour these pork chops, and then feel really bad.

But before this emotional and exceptional feast could begin, he was interrupted.

“Boo!” A tiny voice shot through the kitchen.

“Dude! Wtf!” Jeff yelped.

“Sorry man, I was just being playful. What’s up?” The voice continued.

Jeff opened the fridge door more to let the light shine on the wall, where the kitchen tiles shimmered faintly from the glow. Now fully in his view, he could see what he was talking to more clearly. It was a spider. A common house spider. From the look of it, it was not someone he had encountered before.

“Do I know you, man?” He asked.

“Hah, not likely. I was born yesterday.” The spider replied.

Struggling to hold back a ‘were you born yesterday joke’, Jeff started the feel annoyed. His pork chops were waiting for him, but now he was talking to this douchebag. And just when he had gotten rid of cat as well.

“Right, that’s good for you, bud. However, here’s the thing; you can’t be in here.” He explained.

The spider looked confused. At least as far as Jeff could tell. “What are you talking about, man? I like it here. Can’t we share? You’d hardly ever see me.”

Jeff didn’t care. “No, we can’t share. This is my house. Do you pay rent? No, didn’t think so. And because you act like such a douchebag, and delay me from my wonderful meal, I am not even going to let you leave on your own terms. “

“What do you mean?” The spider asked.

“You are going to die.” Jeff said stiffly.

“What?! NO!” The spider exclaimed.

Before the tiny spider could utter another word, Jeff was walking towards the doorway.

“Alright, Cat, come back. I need you to kill this spider.” Jeff said, poking his head out into the hallway.

On a carpet in front of the stove, Cat lay silently, trying to sleep. You could see tiny specks of catnip on his nose.

“Go to hell, Jeff. Kill the spider on your own.” Cat snorted at him. He was obviously upset about something.

He seems upset about something.

As Jeff was about to kick Cat into action, he heard that tiny voice again behind him. It was the spider.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy. Can’t we talk about this?” The spider pleaded as his tiny (albeit many) legs were carrying him closer and closer.

“There’s nothing to talk about. You are a spider. You will die. You contribute nothing to the world.” Jeff said. He seemed to have a general hatred for the arachnid.

“But wait! I kill flies! Doesn’t that count for something?” The spider seemed on the verge of tears. Spider tears, mind you.

“Flies I can tolerate. They don’t do bother me much. Now you guys, you guys can go to hell.” He continued into the hallway, rummaging through a closet. Presumably to find some sort of object to squish the tiny spider with.

“But, but…” the spider was sobbing now.

“No if’s, and’s, but’s or coconuts. You’re going to die. And why would I care about flies in winter? Idiot.” Jeff seemed cruel at this point.

Cat had gotten up at this point, and he was carefully watching the event unfold. He enjoyed this.

“If you are going to kill me, I’ll have you know that I am the fourteenth Earl of Gurney. I am a very important member within the arachnid society, and my spider kind would avenge my death.” The spider yelled out as loud as it could. It appeared to have gained some courage to stand up to his terrible treatment. In fact, within the spider-human world, this was considered quite racist towards spiders.

If a spider killed another spider because of his specific species, that spider would go to jail. Or rather, spider-jail, which was made up of very strong webs. However, in the instance of humans being discriminatory towards spiders, there’s was generally very little the relatives of the victim or deceased spider could do. What would often happen in these ugly situations was that the mourning spiders would leave eggs in the evil human’s cereal. And that would be that. Bygones were bygones.

Jeff stood there for a couple of seconds, brandishing an old crutch. He was eyeing the spider.

“Tell me, what’s your name?” He asked.

Proudly, the spider stretched all his limbs out, as if to flex, and informed Jeff of whom he was. “My name is Tobey, and I’m…”

SPLAT!

In an instant, Jeff had brought the wrath of the old crutch down upon poor, poor Tobey.

“Screw you, Tobey.”

Jeff ate both of the leftover pork chops that night. And then he went to sleep. He slept like a baby.