Big, Hairy, and Hunkering on My Pillow!

How the hell did he–or she — get in here?

Photo by SHAHBAZ SHAIKH on Unsplash

It happened last night.

At about 8:37 Pacific Coast Time.

I hadn’t eaten yet. I was still in the throes of writing and slipped into the kitchen for a hot cuppa tea for the final push to the finish line of my story.

When I came back into my room, I froze in my tracks.

My breath caught in my throat.

There he was. Or she.

A big, hairy, honking — or hunkering? — spider. The brown kind, with furry legs. This one was up on its legs, which gave it height as well as width. Not flat the way I usually see them.

Did I say it was huge?

Even without my glasses. But since I don’t have an overhead light in my bedroom, I donned my reading glasses and took a few steps closer for a better look, praying that my eyes were playing tricks on me and it would turn out to be a smudge or blob of something I spilled.

No. Such. Luck.

There she was. Or he. In all her spider glory. Perched on my pillow, looking like she was ready to pounce. I could almost see her doing her spider push-ups for a spider push-off. One…two…three…

But she was frozen in place as much as I was. Or so it seemed.

I stood there for several minutes, at first in disbelief. This wasn’t happening. Not here. Not now. Not to me.

As the reality sunk in, it dawned on me. There was no one to call. No mommy. No husband or boyfriend to come remove the intruder so I won’t have to.

And I do mean remove.

Killing her was not an option.

The goal was to gently but safely catch her, take her outside, and let her go.

But, gulp, if that were to be, it was up to me.

I ran into the living room to tell my roommate what I’d seen and grab some latex gloves off my desk. She was ensconced in the film, Miestro, having just subscribed to Netflicks. She did not bat an eye — if she even heard me over Bradley Cooper and the New York Philharmonic.

I donned the gloves and looked around for a little paper bag. The kind my dental floss comes in after a periodontal appointment. The plan was to brush her into the paper bag, curl the top up tight, and take her outside.

I marched back into my bedroom, took another look at her, and disqualified Plan A. Too close for comfort. I needed more sophisticated equipment.

After much rummaging around, I found a plastic cup that I nestled inside a plastic bag which would be its lid. This was not a small or shallow cup. It was long and deep. And its walls were thick. The bag was tinted grey which gratefully afforded some visual obscurity. I did not want to see her struggling to climb the slippery sides.

I did not even want to get near her at arm’s length. Not even to brush her into the glass with a piece of cardboard or somesuch. I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on a long, curly stick. It’s actually a piece of dried sea kelp I once painted, and now use to release broken curtain hangy things that get caught all the time when I close my bedroom curtains.

It wasn’t curtains for the spider, but it was, as Andree Bocelli and Sarah Brightman sign so eloquently, Time to Say Goodbye.

No time for music, however. It was time to do ‘er.

I grabbed the stick and inched closer slowly, hoping she would not move. Because with all the books on my bed and several throws, there were tons of hiding places. And the last thing I wanted was a big, honking hairy spider hiding in my bed when it was time to go to sleep. Thank you very much!

So I came at her from behind and gently prodded her hopefully into the cup. Nothing doing. She jumped down next to the pillow and scurried away. Which meant I had to follow her with the cup and scoop her up in it, instead of knocking her into it. Now we were mano-a-mano, as I chased her around the bed, my determination growing by the moment.

Letting her get away was simply not an option. Not if I cared about sleeping, which I did and do.

Finally, I nabbed her with the glass and wrapped the plastic bag around it. I grabbed the Key and we flew out the door, and down the steps into the courtyard, in the pouring rain. I hadn’t thought to put on a hat. Just my boots.

Our courtyard is huge and has a planter in the middle about ten yards wide, full of bushes and flowers. That would be Charlotte’s new home. There’d be far more to feed and entertain her out here than inside. And she’d be welcome.

I found a little spot under a small plant, turned the cup upside down, and shook it. I didn’t see her leave or scurry away, but when I held the cup and bag up, they were empty.

Ta-da! Victory! Mission Accomplished!

I climbed back up the stairs triumphantly, though very much cold, wet, and alone. I rinsed the cup and put it in for recycling. And trashed the bag.

Then I doffed the gloves, washed my hands, and inspected every square inch of my bed. And inside my shoes. And any other nooks and crannies unwanted critters might be hiding.

All in an evening’s work.

Happy to report I slept well and never once dreamed of spiders. Not that I remember anyway.