On the importance of conquering Arachnaphobia...

Many people may think the life of being a housekeeper to one of God's celibate and holy priests is uneventful.

Let me assure you, dear readers, that the adventure I have previously described of Finding and Cleaning Father's Dentures was no isolated incident.

Housekeeping is no job for sissies!

This leads me to the subject of The Housekeeper and Overcoming Arachnaphobia.

The latter, as most housekeepers would know, is not some obscure theological phrase. It is fear of spiders.

This is an understandable reaction, but it should not deter us from our fundamental duty of being Father's Protector.

The Good Lord has told us, 'Be not afraid'.

And that includes spiders.

A man who is a priest has a higher purpose, above the Insect World.

Never of importunate appetites, no matter what those gossips said about the Jamesons Conviviality Award, Father is entitled to enjoy, sans ants, cockies, weevils, mozzies, flies and crawlers, his daily sustenance.

As a housekeeper I am not without armaments.

My principal weapon is The Mop.

I recall in far north Queensland it was a case of Molly (and Mop) versus the Cane Toads.

I felt like Saint Joan of the Mop as I chased across the Presbytery Garden the legions of the foe.

'Begone, ye vipers,' I cried.

The Mop has also been useful when I have repelled the vagrants who can be such a parish pestilence.

'Begone,' I say, in a voice of Canonical Age.

I hesitate to provide details, but once upon a time I engaged in an unfortunate encounter with a housekeeper, of unblessed memory, of Albanian origin.

Let's just say I was the ultimate victor in the Battle of the Mops, and leave it at that.

The Mop has been a valuable instrument in ridding our Presbytery and Garden of all living creatures. I regret the demise of Father's new pet rabbit (Requiescat in pace, little one) but I was unaware he had purchased it.

Now for the story of the Spider.

It was an occasion of shock and amazement to discover the peace and harmony of our little portion of the Kingdom had been invaded by a HORRID CREATURE FROM THE WILD.

Father and I had returned home from Sister Feralia's Zoroaster Rain Forest Festival.

Father had celebrated Requiem Mass for Sister Sanshoosia and had granted absolution to the Bulldozer Driver who was responsible for her sudden demise.

You can imagine what emotions stirred in my (canonical age) breast when I discovered a Rain Forest Beast had stowed away and accompanied us home, perhaps in our Baggage or Accoutrements.

I came into Father's study.

I was about to say, 'Cup of TEA, Father?' in a respectful voice in the lower register while maintaining Custody of the Eyes, when I saw IT.

IT was a large, black, and very hairy spider.

IT had large eyes, all a-glitter, and fangs pointing like an accuser from the National Civic Council.

The spider was resting in the middle of Father's pink pate.

Had it not looked so menacing IT might have been decorative as it nestled next to Father's remaining grey curls.

Father, however, was innocent of any knowledge of his threatening live 'toupee.'

Molly to the rescue, but how?

Me: 'Do not move, Father!'

Reverend Father: 'Why? Taking a picture, Molly? Please let me put down the Jamesons first.'

Me: 'Do not move.'

Reverend Father: 'What, time exposure? What are you up to, Molly, for heaven's sake?'

Me: 'Still, still, still, Father. One, two, three. Now! Gotcha!'

Reverend Father: 'Ow! Stop! Ouch! M'specs destroyed. Ow! Saints preserve us, have you gone MAD, Molly? Ow! Ow!'

IT was dead. Squashed flat on Father's scalp, it now seemed even larger than a black man's hand. I lowered the Mop.

Father lay back in his chair, eyes glazed like his once-loved late rabbit, clerical collar all awry, his specs in smithereens, and a large contusion emerging upon his scalp, while the arachnoid juices streaked his cheeks.

Mr Rainforest Spider was no more.

In the silence I felt like St Joan of Mop before the Dauphin.

Training comes to the fore in such moments of crisis.

In the lower to middle register, with all irritating tones eradicated from the Canonical Voice, I said: 'Cup of TEA, Father?'

Until next time, Good Housekeeping!

Molly Arbeit

Molly Arbeit is ready to give tips to housekeepers in the Vineyard of the Lord. Molly has been a housekeeper to priests, bishops and even cardinals since about the time Adam was a little boy and knows more about the in and outs of clerical politics and good manners than even Ratz does.

Molly welcomes your pearls of wisdom, and just plain good old housekeeperly tips, in our discussion forum and she always welcomes your questions and feedback.

©2006 Clifford Baxter

[Cliff's Menagerie Archive]