Tarantula

My tarantula sits in a glass cage lined with dirt, and decorated by a log. He transfixes me with his ability to never move. Whole days will go by where not a single hair on not a single leg will even pause for a moment to consider the possibility of motion. I look into that glass cage and I wonder- This, this is a creature with a brain the size of a pin head, literally. What could he possibly be thinking about, I continue to wonder, in all that time in perfect stillness, perfect contemplation? This will occur to me only for a moment, and I will return to my task.

I sit in a poorly lit room under a tall metal bed. I remain hunched at my computer, absorbed in my personal world. Eerily, the fleeting thought comes that maybe, just maybe, my tarantula perches, watching me, and
thinks
the
exact
same
thing.