Sharing indoor space with spiders is not unusual in Japan; in fact, it's said to be "lucky" to have tiny black jumping spiders (not their scientific name, obviously) in permanent residence in one's home for most of the year. Our family must be very lucky. But these little guys, and gals, are innocuous and don't bother us at all; we just try not to step on them. In fact, I take pride in my non-fear of them.
Husband hardly ever goes to conferences, so I find it oddly humorous that he happened to be off to one in Tokyo last night. He couldn't have timed his departure any better, as he missed the appearance, then disappearance, of an altogether different kind of spider. There's a Brady Bunch episode in which the Bradys are in Hawaii and there's some ridiculousness involving an idol and a "curse" and a big spider crawls on Peter during the night. Are you following me here? Well, that spider had nothing on this one--and those bizarre scream-like sounds emanating from Peter? Just like what came out of First Child--she even admitted it (the Brady shenanigans are well-known 'round here). She was with me when I spotted it, this thing--about eight feet away in the kitchen, loping along the floor in the semi-darkness. I immediately pointed it out to her, then she did the crazy scream but had the presence of mind to run off for a flashlight. She came back, screamed again, then trained the big red Maglite on the invader, whose eyes glinted back at us creepily.
One of us called out to Second Child, who was watching "Star Wars" in another room. The spider, frightened, or more likely, befuddled by its overwrought observers, froze. This gave us a moment to think, and to stop screaming. Second Child appeared and came up with a plan immediately: why not drop a hefty hardback book on it? In retrospect, his idea was quite sensible, but First Child, in between screams, wanted to be nice to the spider and try to trap it. I, out of some misplaced goodness of heart, agreed.
Now, what to do? It was quickly apparent once the spider started moving again (provoking more screams--our neighbors surely must have been picturing murderous activity) that any kind of capture was going to take some careful maneuvering. This thing was too big (think dessert plate) and too fast for any conventional killing or trapping techniques; this would take some thought. Unfortunately, the best our three-person think tank could come up with was a pink plastic trash can, to be placed (theoretically) atop the spider, weighted with the aforementioned hefty hardback, and left for the night in hopes that morning would bring clarity and a new plan for removal. The can was procured, but the standoff continued while I (by default the only willing available trapper since Husband was gone) pondered my sneak attack. By this time, the spider had made a right turn out of the kitchen (more screams) and headed into the living area, where I was alarmed at the thought that it might find sanctuary under the couch.
Second Child, by this time "officially creeped out" and also amazed that we hadn't used his plan, deserted us to finish his movie. I shouldn't have worried that the spider would head under the couch; I should have worried that I would miss him with the can (well, he was in a corner!) and he would scurry off into the adjacent computer/craft room. Another standoff, and then another move by the spider and a couple of crazed trapping attempts with the can. I probably don't have to tell you that it ended well--for the spider, not for us. I finally (close to an hour into this adventure) threw my hands in the air, and with First Child's blessing, said good-night to the spider. So, twenty hours later I sit and wonder if the spider is in here with me, conjuring its own sneak attack--which, if it has any chance of working, will not involve the use of a pink plastic trash can.
