When I first heard the news and went to tell my mother, I was sobbing so hard I couldn't get the words out to tell her what was wrong. The first word out of her mouth was, "Spider?" Yes, Mother, there is a giant magical arachnid in my bedroom that has robbed me of the power of speech. Even then it struck me as funny, and when I had regained composure I had a good laugh about it. In her defense, we have had some doozies in the house this year. One was about the size of a mouse. Creeeeepy! I am not arachnophobic. In fact, I like having a spider or two in the house to decrease the mosquito and house-fly population, but this one even made me nervous. I did however manage to retain my composure when it made it's first appearance, unlike my brother, the biologist and lifelong aracnophile, who screamed like a girlie and jumped up on his chair. You note I said first appearance. Yes, after being relocated to greener pastures, so to speak, our mutantly enormous friend reappeared two nights later in exactly the same spot as before. I'm not sure which thought is more disturbing: that it was the same spider who had managed to reenter our home after being removed a considerable distance, or that the second appearance was a member of his clan... gah!
This is Peter, our pet garden spider of several years ago. We thought his choice of abode was particularly apropos. We enjoyed his descendants for several years, but this year there were none to be seen. Perhaps they were driven out by the recent giant immigrants.