I didnt’ see it until I got out of the shower yesterday. It was sitting in my sink like it owned the place, calmly shaving one of its eight hairy legs.
I gave an involuntary shudder. (I did not scream, however. I think screaming and crying are useless unless there’s someone around to hear you.)
I needed that sink. I can’t work the morning magic without it.
I thought about drowning it, but that would involve reaching across it and I have a feeling it could jump. I found a shoe and used that to reach the knob to turn on the water. It ran around and around the porcelain, slowly sliding down the slick surface toward the drain. Finally gravity took over and was drowned…it’s hairy legs wrapped around its body.
Of course, this begs the age-old question–what’s worse? A gigantic alive tarantula in the sink or a dead one?
I needed something to scoop it out with. One of Husband’s business cards would do.
I reached down slowly to slide the card under the carcass. But as soon as I touched it, all eight legs unfolded and it started running around the sink again.
OK, this time I did scream and quickly jerked the water back on. But this wasn’t the little arachnid’s first rodeo and this time he took the high road, staying safely away from the water.
Sensing this was a losing battle, I searched for another weapon. I grabbed a tall aerosol can and pushed down on the top as hard as I could. Death by hair spray.
Once again, it rolls itself up into a little ball. Once again I try to slide a business card under it. Once again, it springs to life. Only this time I’m halfway to the toilet. I drop it, and the card, in the water and start flushing. (Of course, being the greenies that we are, our toilets only have a couple of tablespoons of water in them.)
But I watch it go down the drain. And close the lid.