Posted by sean on December 27, 2018 at 11:15 pm in Rabbits, Roman, Spiders with No Comments

We’ve just got into bed. A little later than planned. About an hour ago and prepared to carry out the final duty of the day, we put Roman back into his cage. Claire was studying a mark on our ceiling. It was then I noticed it. A huge spider on the wall…

What the hell was it doing? I’ve been through this before – spiders of that enormity are only allowed to make themselves known in September and failing that, JRR Tolkien novels.

The spider was so high up the wall, that Claire was unable to remove it using her usual humane technique, involving a coffee jar and small book.

I am an arachnophobic, so was hardly going to act like the brave husband and catch the creature with my bare hands. That’s if I could have even reached above the light switch, let alone to the spider’s high-rise lair.

Our neighbour must have been concerned about the noise, as there was a lot of girly shrieks – mostly from me. These caused our pet rabbit, Roman – helpful as ever – to stop eating his favourite treat of dried mango, to stare at Claire and me, with a look as if to say “Oh my God! You are so embarassing! You are not my bunny parents”. Well, he is a teenager in rabbit years, so that kind of behaviour and disdain towards the hands which feed him, is to be expected.

I told Claire in no uncertain terms, that we had three choices, as to how to deal with the spider – attack it with bug spray – suck it up with the vacuum cleaner – ignore it and go to bed. Granted, the latter wasn’t my preferred option, but I didn’t want force my wife into battle, while shirking my own duties.

Additionally, if we were to take the bug spray or vacuum cleaner option, it would almost certainly result in the demise of the spider, and I didn’t want to solely take responsibility for the death of a living creature.

We decided to use our weapon of choice. Everyone has their favourite – James Bond the Walther PPK, Indiana Jones the lasso, while Donald Trump goes for the big red button. We have a Dyson vacuum cleaner. We have used it in many a battle against spiders, with a 25% success rate. So reliable. Plus, I think its creator, James Dyson, lives in Bath, so if it ever fails, we can send the boys round… and ask him very politely if he would kindly repair the vacuum cleaner for us, as the warranty has expired. If he declines, we will apologise for wasting his valuble time, before promptly vacating his property.

The vacuum cleaner approach failed. Again. Upon spotting the Dyson, the spider made a run for it, back into a hole in the wall. Honestly, it’s pathetic – Henry Hoover eats spiders for breakfast! It was time to go for Plan B – chemical warfare…

Claire sprayed Raid insect killer into the spider’s den. Long-term readers of my blog will know that I swear by the stuff. Mainly something along the lines of, “You f**king spray! You had better kill that spider c**t!”

It was only when Claire started to look for the creature, post-spray, that she saw it on the wall! I’ve seen enough Freddy Kruger movies to know that you NEVER return to the home of the killer, once they’ve apparently been destroyed. I don’t think Claire has seen any of Wes Craven’s work, which would explain her error of judgement.

After some more screaming and shouting, Claire reached for the previously failed Dyson and attacked with all its suction. The spider flew up the tube.

Despite leaving the vacuum cleaner running for a minute, we wanted to satisfy ourselves that the spider had been captured – dead or alive, we weren’t fussy. Once the suction had been turned off, we inspected the Dyson. There was no sign of the spider!

Without wanting to sound gruesome, it was probably smashed into dust, by the force of the vacuum. But just imagine if it hadn’t? Imagine if it was a superhero spider, who hung onto the tube, withstanding the great force of the suction. Tonight, it’ll crawl out and kill the two of us, in our sleep.

If this is my last blog post, it’s been a pleasure, but all good things must come to an end.

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