It was an eventful week for Enchilada. First, last Saturday, I awoke to a shameless display of Enchilada's undercarriage. I got my first good look since the molt, and the bullseye was obvious. I have a boy. A teenage boy, to be exact. My son, in spider form. (What was I thinking??)
These days, I've been working four jobs, one full-time and three part-time. After a year of unemployment, like a tarantula after a famine pouncing on anything that crosses its lair, I greedily snatch up any unwary work foolish enough to cross my path. As a result, I'm not getting much sleep.
So last Wednesday, I was looking forward to a whole luxuriant six hours. As I was about to lie down, I noticed a little side door open on Enchilada's enclosure. I had refilled his water earlier, and in my exhausted stupidity, I had gotten sidetracked and left it open.
I took the box out and lifted the lid, hoping that he hadn't noticed and that he was hiding behind the flowerpot, which is his favorite trick when he wants to drive me nuts. No spider. Really no spider.
So at 11:30 at night, with the alarm clock set to go off at 5:00, I began the search in our horrible, messy bedroom. I checked the covers where my husband was peacefully sleeping, took the books out of the bookshelf, examined the blanket covering the guitar, pulled the junk out from under the bed, shone the flashlight in all the nooks and crannies. Finally, two hours later, I had to give up for the night.
The next day, I was gone from early morning until late at night. Everybody in bed, the house dark, I resumed my search. This continued for the next couple of days. I kept hoping he would turn up in the bathroom, but there was more reason to assume the worst. The enclosure sits 3 1/2 feet off the ground. When he squeezed out of the door, he must have fallen to the floor, burst his abdomen, and had just enough strength to crawl off and die. We would probably find his poor, twisted, mummified body the day we moved out. Of this I became convinced. I was ashamed and disgusted with myself for the inattention that led to his unnecessary demise, but most of all, I missed him.
On Friday, we went to see the Harry Potter movie. Not to spoil anything, but for those of you who have seen it, you know the scene with Hagrid and Aragog? Of course, then I missed him more than ever. I had the whole Saturday ahead of me to tear apart the bedroom. At least I would find his sad little lifeless form, so I could take him to the hills and give him a proper burial, play a sad song or two, and pour a mojito over his grave. As we walked home, I had it all planned out. I thought the mojito was a nice touch. I was starting to think of who to invite when I got the text from my son in ALL CAPS:
COME HOME NOW THERES A HUGE SPIDER ON THE WALL
I ran the whole way, 14 blocks, and arrived a heaving, sweaty, joyous mess. My son was standing in the middle of the living room on tiptoes, pointing to the sofa, and shouting, "See! THIS is why I didn't want SPIDERS in the house!" I finally got out of him that the little miscreant had scuttled down behind the sofa. I got the flashlight and discovered why: there was money, socks, breakfast cereal, a guitar string, books, DVDs, a bill or two, and some unidentified objects that may have been the remains of fugitive crickets. In short, everything a tarantula on the run would want to furnish his clandestine bachelor pad. Enchilada was sitting calmly (and conveniently) within arm's reach of the end table, barricaded behind a folded up music stand. (So that's where that damn thing went.)
In the Tarantula Keeper's Guide, the Schultz advise you to keep a fishnet handy. Now I know why.
I can't stop smiling. It's like a miracle. It's Christmas in July. He is active, eating and drinking, and feisty as ever. He tried his best to murder the fishnet on the way back into his home. It made him even madder that there was nothing for him to sink his fangs into.
I promised my son a finder's fee. He asked me to get rid of the tarantulas. I said I'd give him a twenty. He said nobody'd better escape ever again, and I said that was fine by me.
