Lipton the Spood Pet

Ripley's eyes popped open. What day was it? Sunday. Phew, no classes. What time was it? Uncertain. The canopy curtains on his bed were partially closed but even without their obscuring function, time was notoriously hard to determine in the Slytherin living quarters. Not only were they underground, but any light one could see was immediately mangled by the inner motion of the lake water outside their every window. The main method of determining a day's chronology down here, Ripley had learned over the past two months, was to listen. This was risky in itself; if it was silent that could mean it was early morning but it could also mean that he had slept too long and everyone had already scattered for the day's adventures. Whatever time it was on this day, Ripley felt fully awake. Probably too early for breakfast, so then what to do? A single word echoed in his head: Lake.

Traipsing around the Great Lake was Ripley's solitary pleasure. Whereas the majority of his days (and some nights) were a toss-up between class and studying for class, typically surrounded by others. He maintained his joi de vivre by balancing his time with people and books with forays into nature. Quietly, the boy parted the heavy fabric, found an outfit of sufficient warmth for what promised to be a frosty November morning and tip-toed his way out of the dorms, through the empty common room, up the stone stairs, and out of the castle.

The air was in fact colder than Ripley anticipated as he strode down to the shore. Twilight's timid light illuminated a welcoming path, familiar by now to Ripley's practiced feet. He had a routine when he went out to the lake alone that started with a survey of the water's sublime expanse. The water's gentle hypnotic lapping played background to the rest of nature's orchestra: The whir of a chill breeze through the dense copse of alders, cedars, and pines surrounding the lake, the crack of branch and bark in that deep growth, owls insistently calling their final questions before retiring for the day, the thick fog patting the glassy liquid, and more was the young wizard's waking concert.

After having surveyed the lake's sight, sound, and damp, dewy smell, Ripley next turned his attention inward on a little trek into the surrounded flora. Features of that ground cover and foliage were relatively familiar to the boy over two months of strolling -- not least because his memory for sensory phenomena was remarkable. About 10 minutes into his dawn's break amble, he came to a friendly cedar, mature and well-established standing gigantic with its sleek green branches jutting in all directions well overhead. This location was significant because at the base of this tree, Ripley had twice previously seen a beast of a trapdoor spider minding his porch.

The first time he saw the tangle of webbing with it's curious flap, he'd stopped for a closer look. Much too soon, a winsome behemoth of a spider emerged. Auburn-colored with banded legs, this guy was one the biggest arachnids Ripley had ever seen. The boy kept his distance -- these spiders were fast with their long legs, though the chance of an attack on a human-sized opponent seemed distant. Ripley greeted the beast and, as if exchanging salutations, the spider wiggled his pedipalps, clicked his fangs, and raised his front legs. The conversed like this for a few minutes with Ripley edging a tad-but closer for a better look with no seeming ill will from the stylish spood.

The next time Ripley came by, the spider must've been asleep because nothing emerged. So Ripley left a dried leaf of water next to the door and moved on. However, the following visit, the spider emerged again and they spent a little time gesturing at each other. Ripley had a thought -- he ran back to the lake and brought another leaf with water, placing it in front of his eight-legged interlocutor. The spider clicked and drank.

This time, when Ripley approached the nest, it was clear that there had been some sort of tussle. The ground cover around the tree didn't have it's usual staid appearance. The disturbance in front of the spider's house was especially apparent. Ripley crouched next to the trap and waited. Nothing. This was disappointing as Ripley had been looking forward to this encounter after last visit's interesting inter-species dialogue. He knelt a bit longer but his legs were starting to fall asleep. Finally, he got up, located a small branch and tapped on the spider's door. Almost immediately, there was a shuffling inside. Slowly, Ripley's friend emerged from his hole but what the boy saw was not what he expected.

The spider's typical neat hairstyle was disheveled, his movement was slow and unsure, and worst of all, he was missing a leg! Clearly, there had been a confrontation and whatever creature had visited had very nearly gotten a snack the size of a Big Mac. Probably something had scared it off, Ripley thought, but what if it came back?

Meanwhile, the spider was edging closer to Ripley and clicking gently with his fangs. The closer he got, the worse for wear he appeared. Whatever fear Ripley had of this, what looked to be a European Hairy Trapper, dissipated. This spider was in a bad way! And the cold wasn't doing him any favors. The tips of his legs looked awfully frosty. Ripley thought quickly. He took off the woolly hat he had been wearing and placed it on the ground. The spider prodded the beanie with his extremities and determining that it was no danger, crawled inside, clicking and rubbing his pedipalps in what Ripley optimistically called satisfaction.

Very gingerly, Ripley brought his hands around the hat. The spider tucked his legs in -- normally a sign of fear, though this seemed somehow peaceable -- but did not react otherwise. Reaching around, the brave (or stupid?) boy scooped up the hat with the spider and lifted it carefully, giving the spider the chance to escape if so desired. The burger stayed put.

Walking back to school, Ripley's mind raced. He was at once elated, anxious, extremely aware of what he held, and totally blind to the rest of the world. His feet were on autopilot steering him past obstructions to the building. As he got closer, he thought, I have a pet now -- I'd better find him something to live in. Then, for some reason he thought of breakfast and tea. His American grandmother drank Lipton, ghastly tea bags and all. Not a bad name, though, Ripley mused in this stream-of-consciousness. And that was how young Ripley got his pet, a 7-legged European Hairy Trapper named Lipton.