Charlotte's Mailbox

There is a spider living in our mailbox... one of those thick-looking black spiders with white dots. I've named her Charlotte, for obvious reasons (if you've read "Charlotte's Web"). The spider is not very big, maybe the circumference of a dime in size, but she's thick and sturdy-looking, sort of soft and fuzzy.

I have removed that spider at least seven times, using the edge of an envelope to lift her from the door of the mailbox and flip her onto the grass by the road. I've seen that spider land in the grass each time, but the next day she's back inside that box, just waiting for me to open the little door. "Surprise! I'm back! Did you miss me?" (Proof positive that the country air turns one's mind to applesauce... I am now making up conversations with a spider.)

I don't want to kill the spider because the white polka-dots on her black body make her look as if she should be the star character in a children's book. ("The polka-dot spider sat down beside her...")  So far, she has not attempted to build a web inside the mailbox or anywhere near it, and I have to admire her tenacity for climbing back up that post after being continually flipped into the grass. And do spiders get lonely? She's always by herself, unless she's hiding her companion in the dark recesses at the back of that mailbox. ("Here she comes! Get lost for a minute!")

I will continue to flip Charlotte into the grass when I see her, but the moment she hitches a ride on a piece of mail and ends up in the house, that's when the spider-party ends because I will smash her polka-dots flat in a split second.