Spider facts!

  Category: Behavior

  Subcategory: Pets

  Although often thought of as unfeeling, unthinking monsters, there is ample evidence of complex behavior in spiders. Certain large tarantulas in areas as varied as South America and India have been found to keep ‘pets.’ These are usually frogs; it has been postulated, though far from proven, that the spiders benefit from the frogs eating ants which might otherwise scavenge their eggs, while the frogs benefit from the protection of the spiders against larger predators.

  Jon moved over to the bear’s forepaw, where he had last felt the movements. As he lifted the paw to examine what lay beneath, he heard a squeak of panic. A small creature no longer than one of his claws darted to the back of the cave. It was a rat. It was remarkable only in its apparent normalcy. The rat passed into a small hole in the stone wall, though the rat’s protruding belly nearly prevented its entry. Its little feet scrabbled for a fraction of a second, and then it squeezed in with a little *pop* sound. It would have fit well in an episode of Tom and Jerry.

  Jon regarded the bear’s forepaw, which was missing a large amount of meat from the wrist. It had been whittled right down to the bone, and the sizable hunk of missing flesh probably explained why the rat was nearly pear shaped.

  Jon still felt utter disgust as he looked at the bear’s limb. Forgetting his earlier concerns, he placed one of his palps on the meat from the bear. It still smelled like pine and cinnamon. He cut into it, lifting just a smidgen of the remains to his mouth, then spit it out, leaving it on the ground.

  He got another system prompt:

  “Carrion. Bare branch forelimb.”

  Jon took a second to bring up the prompt from when he began eating the bunnies.

  “Fresh game. Cuniculus spina.”

  Jon thought on the names. The first one sounded like a shitty, poorly thought out pun. The second name was literally Latin for rabbit-thorn, similar to how the name porcupine was basically thorned or spiky pig. Perhaps the poorly chosen names were another cruel joke on the inhabitants of this world. Maybe this was hell.

  More importantly than whatever god-awful sense guided the nomenclature, Jon noticed the word “carrion” and “fresh.” Maybe he could only eat things he killed personally?

  The bear had disgusted him from the moment he touched it, and it had died nearly simultaneously to the bunnies. There was no way it had grown rotten while the bunnies remained fresh. Given the bunny’s interest in the creature, Jon didn’t think it was poisonous or distasteful. He also doubted that one mammal would be ok for spiders to eat and another would be gross, though he supposed it was possible.

  Why had the rat ate so much of it? What made it palatable to the creature? Was it something about being a scavenger? Could he gain an ability to eat carrion? It would be extremely useful to be able to eat things he had not killed himself. It would eliminate a huge portion of the risk.

  As Jon had these thoughts, he absently munched down the remaining bunny skull, which was covered in dirt and grime. He realized what he was doing, and paused; he had no idea when he had even picked it up. With an internal sigh, he continued to chow down. There was no point dwelling on things he could not change right now, or thinking of how his family might perceive him.

  The shock of having his defenses bypassed had knocked him out of his spiral of self-pity. After he realized the rat had likely been in this hole before him, he had calmed considerably. Jon had accidentally constructed his whole web around its home, the hole in the wall.

  Jon had no use for the bare branch limb. Even the small bite Jon had taken had left a foul taste in his mouth. He curiously examined the bit of bear flesh he had tried earlier: it had not dissolved at all, even though he could see it still coated in the acidic spit. Jon picked up the bit of flesh, wishing he could gag at the taste.

  He went over to the hole he had dug in the corner, and uncovered one of the discarded rabbit hind parts. Jon dropped the bit of spit-covered flesh from the bear onto the bunny’s haunch, and noted it immediately began sizzling and dissolving into sludge. Jon intuited that the spit would not be much of use in a fight. Its only utility was breaking down his kills for consumption.

  He thought back again on his meal. It was disturbing how easily he had lost himself in the instincts of his new form, immersed in the euphoria he had felt as he ripped his way through the bodies. Jon repeatedly found his attention drawn back to the hole where the rat had retreated. He thought on how he had subconsciously begun chomping the bunny’s skull again, even after his emotional turmoil from earlier.

  Something was wrong with his new form, beyond what was advertised. The haptic feelings had been helpful, providing him with the basic understanding he needed to run, move and fight. The stats he had received after starting had undoubtedly helped with his survival as well. But Jon began to wonder if one or both of these features was fundamentally changing the way his mind worked. Was it the transformation into a beast?

  It was impossible to be sure with the information he had now, but he had to learn more before he lost the parts of himself that mattered.

  As Jon had these thoughts, he realized something else: the pain in his side was gone! So was the discomfort from his back and his upper abdomen. He carefully felt up with his second and third legs, and sure enough there was no longer a defect in his carapace where the shallow cut had been before. Had eating the Cuniculus spina healed him? Or was it the act of eating itself?

  Even with the surprise healing, he still felt exhausted. However, the nature of the tiredness had changed. Before, it was like being hungover from a three-day bender. Now, it was the comfortable feeling of tiredness after a long day of yard work.

  Jon was ready for sleep, but he was not suffering in any way. The hot-wire pain from his mental sense had faded as well, though he still did not want to try to use it any time soon. Finally, despite his emotional response a few minutes ago, he felt content now. Well, aside from the invasive thoughts about how chewy the rat might be.

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  Jon looked over at the hole it had disappeared to. He looked back at the remaining carrion meat. It was useless to him.

  “Tuck in little buddy,” he thought.

  Jon cut a large chunk of the meat off the humerus, leaving it next to the hole. He carved two more hunks off, and tucked them up close to his chest before moving to the opposite side of the cave. He sat by his web with two of his clawed feet resting on it to ensure maximum sensitivity. He was positioned so he could see the hole in the wall, but also look out his little window with a flick of his eyes.

  The rat was small, but who knew, maybe it was more dangerous than it appeared. He doubted it. Jon figured a credible threat would not have fled from a good meal. He also assumed the skills used that allowed the little guy to eat carrion were at the expense of offensive capabilities.

  Still, it was better to be safe. He kept a vigil on the spot it had disappeared. Jon waited and watched. After several minutes with no movement, and no concerning noises or tremors from the web, Jon gradually felt his senses fading. He could not close his eyes, but the focus was no longer as sharp.

  Jon recalled a bit of controversy surrounding spiders: did they sleep, or did they simply rest? Zach’s voice of course broke in as he had the thought, but Jon’s focus wasn’t sharp enough to really pay attention anymore. He knew from his own studies as a physician that ‘true’ sleep, the kind humans had, was a highly organized process orchestrated in distinct phases with different regions of the brain activating throughout the night. From what Zach was saying, in spiders it wasn’t clear if this occurred or they just let their body clear toxic metabolites while resting.

  Whatever they did, it was poorly documented. There were some recent papers documenting movements similar to the rapid eye movement phase, or REM, of sleep. This phase of sleep was the closest associated with dreaming in humans.

  As he thought this, Jon slipped into slumber.

  The dreams were strange. It was as much tactile as visual. Fragmented portions of his meeting with Herman, his initial flight, finding the cavern, the fight with the bunnies and his escape to the upper reaches. The terrifying escape from the cherub. The twisting tunnel, building his web, feeding, the rat. The rat had squeaked and ran. It had barely squeezed into that hole, popping as it darted away. It had crawled back out, inching its way to the meat he left on the ground. It had darted back into the hole, carrying its prize. It had emerged a few moments later, stalking slowly, slowly back to the bear limb.

  His awareness snapped into place, and Jon saw the rat gnawing another large hunk off the limb. Unlike when he had been a human, he had no eyelids, so there was not much to give away his return to consciousness. Staying still was so easy it was almost eerie: all the minor movements he felt in a mammalian body were absent save slow, even breaths from his abdomen. But with eight limbs to support him, these movements translated minimally to the rest of his body.

  Even still, Jon saw the rat freeze, aware that something had changed. It was a little over halfway between him and its hole, placing it only a meter or so away. His instincts told Jon he could pounce before the rat even perceived his movement, and they urged him to take advantage of this little free snack. Jon ignored the feeling.

  For one, he didn’t like feeling like his new body was controlling him. For another, he felt he needed an anchor.

  Jon was completely unmoored. In this place he had no friends, no family. Herman had indicated there would be other people brought to this world: maybe ten or twenty thousand. However, Jon had no way to know how many would make their way here. If he were a human offered the choice between a village, a forest and a set of subterranean tunnels, this would be his last choice. Jon had no idea what the relative size of this place was, or if everyone had the same starting location. In short, Jon did not expect to see any person any time soon.

  This little scavenger hadn’t attacked him. Jon was desperate, and he hoped if he could persuade it to follow him for food he might end up with something like a friend.

  Jon waited for the rat to resume eating, which it did silently after a few minutes. Jon slowly rose, and then gently tapped the ground with his right first leg, claw extended to make a small clack against the stone. The reaction from the rat was instant: it blasted off its hind legs and raced towards its hole. Jon made no move to follow, but did gently reach out with his new mental sense. The over-extended feeling was gone completely, and he felt something he could push at. As the rat reached the hole, Jon nudged it as gently as he could, and winced as he saw it fall slack to the ground.

  As a child, Jon had been a huge fan of the series Redwall, which featured talking mice, shrews, moles and voles living in harmony, reluctantly brought into conflict against the foul rats, cats, stoats and ferrets. It had inspired him to pick up a mole in his backyard as an eight-year old, and he had been surprised and dismayed when it promptly bit him on the thumb with all its tiny might. He remembered shot putting that thing more than ten meters into the woods. Afterwards, he felt fairly guilty. In retrospect, he recognized how terrifying that must have been for the tiny creature.

  Thinking of that mole, Jon walked over to the stunned rat. He gently lifted it to the center of the chamber, where he placed it next to the bear limb. The little guy had practically picked it clean. Jon genuinely could not figure out where the hell it was storing it all this meat it was eating. He was not quite sure how to wake the rat, and he was not quite sure why he would want to. He just knew he was desperate for any sense of control or normalcy right now. Jon would not eat this rat. He would keep it safe if he could, and even take it with him if possible.

  Every other being he had encountered, from the quill bunnies to the cherub, had tried to eat him or attack him immediately. Even the bushes and rocks were mindless beasts trying to eat everything near them. Maybe the rat’s restraint was just a sign of a higher intelligence or cunning, but Jon had the sense this rat was different. He had felt something in common with the other creatures in this place, that same hunger he felt seemed to be in them. It was present in the frenzied attacks of the rabbits and the frustrated squeals of the cherub. He supposed the chipmunk might have been an exception, but he had not had close enough contact have an opinion.

  Jon looked at the rat another moment, and reached out again with the mental sense. He felt the little light in front of him; it would be so easy to overload it, watch it seize or just die like a candle snuffed out in the wind. He held onto this feeling for a moment, examining it, and just breathing. He was in control. He could make this choice.

  He gently nudged the rat’s mind again. It felt like just barely letting out a breath. Jon felt the light kindle from tiny embers back into a flickering flame. The creature did not snap, or attack him, it just stared at him for a few moments. He felt a thin line of mental energy connecting it to him, and he concentrated on calm and kind thoughts. He slowly edged the meat towards the creature, who turned its gaze from him to the carrion.

  The rat snatched the meat, devouring it in a single bite. It looked like it partially unhinged its jaw to do so. The rat turned a hungry gaze back up at Jon, then pounced at him.

  Jon felt sadness as he prepared to execute the tiny creature. Then he saw its trajectory was not at his abdomen or other vital structure, but rather the second piece of carrion he was holding in his right claw. Jon let the rat snatch the meat out of his claw, and then watched it dart back towards the limb still laying in the corner. The rat ate the flesh it held as it ran, then dove back onto the bear’s forelimb like it had not eaten in weeks.

  As he took this in, Jon reconsidered his earlier position. The rat was just as affected by the hunger as everything else here, it just had different targets. Jon was not on its menu, any more than that bear meat had been on his. Thinking this, he made a decision. Jon did his best to send a strong impression down the tenuous mental bridge between him and the rodent. It was positive thoughts and kind feelings, feelings of mutual safety and defense. In summary, he sent it one word:

  “Friend?”