9 am, Sunday

This morning, while enjoying coffee and proclaiming “Today’s going to be a great day – I can feel it”, our happy world suddenly came to a crashing halt. Why? This is why:

He’s huge, he’s furry, he’s utterly disgusting, and we are not sure how we’re going to get rid of him. So here we sit, one person continuously on spider watch so as not to lose track of his whereabouts in the house, while we try to devise a plan for his removal.

We’re pretty sure he’s a Huntsman Spider, which can jump and run and probably beat either one of us in a footrace for the front door. Neighbor Cynthia, in response to our 911 text, suggested we either (a) hit him with a mop (gross), (b), suck him up in the vacuum (we can tell you right now that the Hoorarium is no match for him), or (c) leave the deck door open, go enjoy a cup of coffee, and he will probably be gone by the time we return (now who can guarantee that he will head toward the door and not toward the backside of that cozy sofa cushion?).

This is a problem.

11 am, Sunday

Bondi Bridgette from downstairs is here to assess the situation. She has brought her mop. Not to smoosh the newest occupant of Unit 9 but instead to try and herd him out the deck door. This is not working. What else is not working is her story-telling in an attempt to calm our nerves. Maybe if she picked a story with a happier ending than the I-once-had-a-Huntsman-crawl-across-my-bed-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-after-two-hours-I-couldn’t-rid-myself-of-him-and-then-he-disappeared then we would be feeling a bit more enthusiastic about our new housemate.

Bondi Bridgette’s efforts have not resulted as hoped. Our furry (blech!) friend is still clinging to our wall, only now he is wedged behind the speaker. Out of sight yet absolutely not out of mind.

7 pm, Sunday

We have been contemplating the fate of Harry (no offense, Harry) for most of the day now. Naming him may not have been the best idea should we decide to expel him from the family, but it does allow us to speak of him in a friendlier tone. Neighbor Cynthia’s afternoon email, describing the Huntsman in minute and hair-raising detail, including its potential size (15 cm or 6 inches from leg tip to leg tip, of which Harry is sporting a solid 3 inches), jumping ability, speed, and the fact that he can bite (though not poisonous, so hey, at least we have that) has not served to raise his status, but did result in us bringing out a pleasant bottle of Shiraz Cabernet. We feel a bit like the Mafia right now, discussing Harry’s future over a nice glass of red wine. Shall we take him out or let him live to see another day?

Let’s make a list of pros and cons.

Pros:

• He eats cockroaches. Can’t say that we’ve seen a single one of those in the house (yet), so maybe Harry’s been around longer than we’ve realized. (Where he’s been during this time, we shudder to think.)

• He’s shy. Probably won’t keep us up partying all night like the neighbors in the next building over.

• He’s low maintenance. Doesn’t need a sitter or shots and can clearly feed himself.

Cons:

• He’s repulsive. Not to be mean or cruel, but he really is revolting.

• He’s mobile. Those eight long hairy legs can travel. And accordingly to Neighbor Cynthia and Wikipedia (our two best sources of information), they can travel fast. In this situation, it’s not a bonus that he can outrun us.

• He’s unpredictable. Will he leave the way he came? Will he stay for the next few months? Will he tell his friends about this great new pad he found on Roscoe Street where the girls might scream but at least they’re pretty?

8 pm, Sunday

We’ve killed a bottle but not the spider. Story to be continued …