I called the Keelhauler, who is home today while I am at work, and he reported that he was using his Oxnard library card to scrape the old wax off his electric-yellow short board. It seemed a reasonable use for the card, as we do not live in Oxnard, and I asked him to send me a picture of the board, for my own amusement. The picture he sent was this (see illustration):

ILLUSTRATION

It appears to be some sort of cereal bowl wedged into the keyhole-shaped slot where we keep bowls. I do not recognize the bowl. I am unsettled. Moments later, I am further unsettled by:

Mystery the second

I receive another picture, which follows:

SECOND PICTURE

It seems to depict a second, smaller, though also unfamiliar, cereal bowl which fits inside the keyhole. What is the meaning of this cereal bowl-related communication? I cannot say. My call to the Keelhauler's phone is unanswered. Perhaps he is out, purchasing more cereal bowls. Will they fit into the keyhole slot? I do not know. It remains a mystery.

Mystery the third

Some tiny creature has taken to building webs on the handle of the door that leads to my balcony. The webs are messy and roughly triangular, woven of filament so fine that the entire web glitters like cotton candy in the sunlight. I have never seen the creature, although I would infer that it's some kind of spider. A messy, haphazard little spider who thinks she's found a kindred spirit, for if my desk were a web, it would resemble hers.

I wiped out her web two days ago. It was getting on my nerves, and I began to fear that Spiderella was waiting for me to trip and fall into it. Today, the web is back. Whatever I wiped out, it wasn't the web-builder.

So, where is she? Is she in the web? Is she watching me type this? If I sit here too long, will the web envelop me?

I may never know the answers to these great mysteries, but no one can say I did not endeavor to learn them.

P.S.
OK, so I found out what is making the web. I went to wipe out the new web, and found, cowering behind the door hardware, a tiny yet impressively legged spider, who immediately hopped out and struck a defensive, stellar posture that caused me to jump back, colliding with a bookshelf full of three-ring binders and secret dossiers on my coworkers.

She has a black body with a white ovoid dot in the center, and white legs. Perhaps she is some sort of fashion model spider--she's very elegant, in a creepy and repellent way. Like Anna Wintour, without the glasses. And now, she's staring at me in clear recognition of my culpability in the destruction of her web. I understand now that Arachnia, which is probably her name, was not haphazard in her web building, but expressive and artistic. Here is a picture of it, which is terrible, but gives you an idea of how crazy it looked:

CRAZY WEB

How could I have known? And now, she is staring at me. She's a little white star on the black steel frame of the door. And I know she will somehow be my undoing.

If you don't hear from me again, look for a tiny spider with a modeling portfolio, for she is to blame.