There's a spider living in our bathtub. I noticed him about a week ago. There he sits, occasionally runs a lap, minding his own business. Just a regular, non-threatening, garden-variety spider, the kind you find in most people's basements. Though this one looks pretty healthy. About an inch in diameter with legs splayed, his body the size of the tip of my pinky.
Then bath night came along. I scooped him up on a magazine and deposited him in the opposite corner of the bathroom.
A couple days later he'd made his way down the hall to Helena's room. Oh, the shrieks. She loves pretending to be scared, but perhaps he'd crossed a little far into her comfort zone. This time I transported him to the laundry room. It didn't occur to me at the time that the cat, whose litter box is in the area, might take an interest. As a matter of fact, he didn't — the cat is unbelievably lazy these dog days.
By next morning, Spidey had crossed the hall and settled back into the tub. Then it's bath night again; J-F in preparing the bath area must now find a safe haven for the critter. He picks him up, and... drops him. Down the drain. There's nothing to be done about it. The bath must proceed. Water will be evacuated through those pipes.
It took a couple nights, but this morning, Spidey's back.
Helena wants to build him a house.