My front door is garrisoned by twin bushy trees. I'm no botanist, so I can't tell you the specific sort of tree that they are. I can tell you that the trees produce pretty red, assumed to be inedible berries that make for wonderful Christmas photographs and also serve as excellent pelting weapons with which to attack Cotter as we all go to load into a family vehicle.

These sentry trees bookend the covered front entryway. They periodically need to be cut back because like a teenager's bangs, they grow too bushy and obstruct the view to the world on the other side.

A small spider has taken up residence, daily spinning a web transversing the expanse between these two trees. Here's the thing...I've never seen an insect in the vacinity, nor have I seen a victim caught in its web.

I know this because every morning, I walk face-first into the web. I always forget about it until the next morning when I do it all over again. Every night, that industrious arachnid rebuilds.

But here's my thinking...I've seen first hand that there's no insects for it to catch. Yet I'm eating cobweb every morning. So I'm pretty sure that what we've got is a spider who is pretty confident of its own abilities and is figuring that if he can get me bound up and twisted...he will never have to hunt again.

I'm wise to your ways little over-achieving spider. And even though you'll probably greet me with yet another mass of webbery covering my spectacles and teeth....and I may just yell out like a teenage girl in a horror movie...don't confuse that for evidence of your impending victory. Your future lies in relocation and investing in more miniscule quarry.