Tean shifted his attention to the intruder: a small black spider hanging from its web in the closet’s upper corner.

“He looks like a nasty customer,” Tean said.

“Well,” Mrs. Wish said, obviously at a loss for words. “Smash him!”

“I don’t think we need to do that.”

“Dr. Leon, I know a black widow spider when I see one. They can kill an adult. Think of what their poison could do to the children.”

“Venom,” Tean said absently. “Not poison. Do you have a pen? Never mind, I’ve got a Blackwing in my pocket.” He drew out the pencil, got the eraser as close to the web as he could, and thumped the wall. The spider scuttled along the web, following the vibrations. Tean withdrew the pencil, watching as the spider searched for its prey.

“Perhaps my bust of the lesser Roosevelt,” Mrs. Wish offered.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Be honest, Dr. Leon. How much danger are the Irreconcilables in? I’ll book a hotel. I assume you’ll be available to help with their carriers. We can transport them in two trips—”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Tean said hastily.

“If something happened to one of the children, I’d die. I’d just die.”

“Well, we’re all going to die, Mrs. Wish. And they’re technically not children. They’re cats.”

That seemed to throw off the rhythm of Mrs. Wish’s performance. She put her hands on her hips, staring up at him, and said, “I hardly think a crisis is the time to wax philosophical.”

“I’m not being philosophical. I’m just pointing out that we’re nothing but complex molecules chains that will eventually dissolve and be recycled into something else.”

Mrs. Wish stared at him.

“Err. Like catnip. Some of the same basic building blocks that make up Mrs. Wish could one day be inside a cloth mouse, giving some lucky cat hours of entertainment. That’d be nice, right?”

For a moment, Mrs. Wish didn’t seem to know what to say. She settled for: “I should think not.”

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Tean said, “Right. Well, about the spider—”

“I’ll get the lesser Roosevelt.”

“Hold on, and then you can decide. First of all, it’s not Latrodectus hesperus—not a black widow, I mean.”

“I know what a black widow—”

“You can see for yourself.” Tean offered her the chair, but she shook her head. Pointing with the Blackwing, he said, “No hourglass marking on the ventral abdomen.”

“Perhaps you’re confused about which side the marking should be on.”

Tean thumped the wall again, and the spider started scurrying across its web, exposing its dorsal side, which was dark and unmarked.

“Well,” Mrs. Wish said, tugging on her terrycloth sleeves. “What is it then?”

“I think it’s Steatoda grossa, what’s called a false black widow.”

“I still think a good smashing is in order.”

“If you like. But, just so you know, Steatoda grossa preys on a variety of pests, including Latrodectus hesperus. Real black widows, I mean.”

Mrs. Wish thought about this. “It won’t harm the children.”