Spiders should be commended for industriousness, stoicism and bravery. You can dust away a web in an old house, but it will reappear as if by magic the next day, some trait of stubbornness or irascible perseverance having caused the spider to rebuild it in exactly the same spot. And if the tiniest of spiders catches you sweeping away its gossamer trap, it will often stand defiant, glaring at you threateningly. Retreat is not in its vocabulary.
The spider stands its ground, completely ignoring the fact that you are thousands or tens-of-thousands of times bigger than itself; it perhaps even advances in your direction, warning you away from its turf.
The spider, not you, is Godzilla, and you are just the insignificant little scientist, the one who tried to warn the military that their tanks and guns and jets were useless against such a force of nature.
Run away!
Tokyo belongs to Godzilla...