Fascinating animal, doctor. And unlike anything in our elaborate, formal (may I add, sterile?) gardens here. An intriguing question you pose as well. To what purpose such a shifting camouflage? I’m curious how rapidly it shifts: as clouds on a childhood summer day? Faster, as waves at the edge of a storm? Or even more slowly, as the olive oil stains beneath a leaking jar?

Perhaps it has a hypnotic effect for its prey, playing on their pixy curiosity and drawing them closer to the web. The problem with that answer is that its prey does not, presumably, always see or approach the spider itself, but rather the web. I would suspect it may be simply a visible reflection of something happening on another level. Has any study been made of the sounds surrounding an inkblot spider? Perhaps at a level inaudible to humans the spider emits a droning vibration, one carried along the curious web structure that you noted, a sound that shifts with the changing inkblot. It may even be a sound that attracts its prey while repelling larger birds, or perhaps Dr. Argiopes is correct, and the sound is one that overcomes for smaller prey the visual profile of the web.

I hesitate to mention this, because of your recent fallout with a former friend, but searching the aetheric vibrations might be the next place to study, if no sound element is discovered.

On an unrelated note, I have been away for a bit, but I would like to pass my thanks along to the good Miss Watkins for the stories she has shared. I have enjoyed both and look forward to more of her tales. (I was not sure if I should put such a message here or accompanying the appropriate posts, despite this late date. The Informatron is a new presence in my country, one reserved for the aristocrats. I am only able to tap in through a judiciously placed sequence of gears that they have not yet discovered. So if you have a different preference, please let me know.) Regardless, it was good to read and listen to the recent dispatches, both from you and Miss Watkins.

Cheers, as I believe you say in your city.

Ah the preys and predations of common garden life. Which reminds me, those mimics that why wife caught of capture of have returned to our garden. It’s a thrill to spend the afternoon searching for them amongst the berries. They seem to have a predalition to hiding as both green and tomotoes but have now been recorded hiding as blueberries, strawberries and in one account, a mushroom.

Searching though the notes on my informascope, I can’t seem to find where you’ve replied to my letter. Do you recall the code to access that responce from you?

Not being in the City, I am unfamiliar with this particular specie, but there is a quite similar Harlequin Moth that plagues the Library. Like your Inkblot Spider, the patterns on the wings shift and change, often in regard to the state of the moth. When languid, on a cold morning perchance, the patterns shift slowly. When flustered, like when I trap one beneath a glass, the patterns shift almost as fast as the wings beat.
One other oddity of the Harlequin Moth that I have noticed. Mated pairs share their patterns, even across the room from each other.
I conjecture that somehow the two are analogs. The Inkblot Spider’s moods and health are reflected in the shifting patterns.
A parting thought: It is a common folk-myth that the Harlequin Moth’s bright swirling colors entrance people and lead them to their doom. The famous hero from the Andiollius epic is lead to his doom by such a moth. While I have caught and exterminated enough of the pests to realize that they are little threat, save to my books, the myth continues. I can’t help but wonder if the stablimentium draws the eye to the spider’s patterns, causing potential food-sources to lose track of their flight and veer into the web?

One of my neighbors, an exotic lady by the name of Madam L. Y., has a pair of Inkblot spiders in the gardens of her uncle’s country estate. This past summer, to get away from the heat of the City, she invited me to said estate for a holiday and we spent many afternoons taking tea near one web or the other.

The two webs are at separate ends of the garden and there seems to be no interaction between the two Spiders, and I noted after a few days that the Inkblot Spider in the northern corner of the garden was much smaller in size (when compared to the size of the moth pixies that were being caught by the industrious arachnids).

One day, however, we could not find either Spider and did not see them for a total of three days. On the fourth day, the web for the larger of the Spiders had small pearls of web strung out on it. I wonder, if like most spiders, this would a series of egg sacs. Each was smaller then egg sacs for spiders of similar size to the Inkblot Spiders that I’ve seen, but more numerous.

Perhaps one of the Spiders was a male? Perhaps the smaller egg sacs are designed to help preserve the species by splitting up the amount of eggs into smaller batches it increases the overall survivability of the species.

As for the origin of the shifting patterns of the markings… perhaps a diet of faerie creatures (like the moth pixies) influenced the development of the original spiders to bring about their present form? With that supposition as a hypothesis, the philosophy that “like calls to like” could explain why moth pixies are drawn to the webs but not larger creatures, or with similar blood the moth pixies do not sense the web product of the Inkblot Spiders because as a threat because it comes from a similarly faerie source?

Unfortunately, the day that the Inkblot Spiders returned to their webs was out last day at the estate and we had to return to the City so I could not continue my observations.