I just survived an epic spider battle that began in my bed. Oh. My. God.
When I realized what it was that fell from the mosquito net, I immediately leapt from the bed and grabbed a magazine to arm myself. I struck automatically, hoping it would be a swift end to the invader. I only managed to wound it before stopping to compose myself. Amanda talked me down when I called her. I approached with new confidence despite having found the limb I had claimed, which looked both scaly and hairy (not the best combination).
After seeing me attack the beast, I thought Crunchy’s predatory instincts might give me the edge I needed. He was of no such help. The cat decided to paw the spider only playfully, and leave me the dirty work. My shoe was the hero after I cornered the spider between my mattress and the wall.
Crunchy had a chance to redeem himself when a second equally vicious-looking spider arrived near my pile of laundry. This time he pulled it together and was successful with kill number 2.
Being able to see the corpses was not comforting, as I had realized just what it was that fell on my face while I was dozing off. They looked a little like how I imagine baby tarantulas to look. They were the same shape and possessed the same jumping agility. The hair, however, was more akin to peach fuzz.
Is it possible that there is a nest somewhere in my house, led by the full-grown version? My skin crawls with scurrying arachnophobia. I do not like spiders. I would love to check this off my list of accomplishments, but I just can’t be sure the war is over. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, send someone in with a big can of bug poison or a flamethrower. Or both.