As my two loyal readers may remember, I have started a tarantula collection with my boyfriend. At last count there were four tarantulas, two hunstman spiders (google it, they’re weird) and… well, a crapload of centipedes and scorpions. Not to mention the now countless, ever breeding cockroaches.

Gross.

Anyhow, shortly after returning from Vancouver where Mike and I were for a wonderful four days,  I was desperate to administer water and food to my little guys. Everything was going well, and I was quickly spraying down the containers the little dudes live in so they might freshen up. They can live quite long without food, but often need pretty specific humidity and water conditions maintained.

Then I got to Hercules, who we nicknamed Herc the Jerk after it became apparent he preferred burrowing and hiding to any other activity. He was in hiding as I popped the lid off his pill bottle container, but did not remain so for long.

I think you can see where I’m going with this, so I’ll spare the dramatics. There is now a dime size, very freaked, very uptight baboon tarantula running around the IKEA “Expedit” (what newly graduated kid doesn’t have one of these?) shelf my boyfriend uses to hold his records. I cried as I pulled everything off the sixteen cube shelf and shone a light down the back of the shelf, hoping against hope that Herc would come flying out and into my arms for a hug…or something. I don’t know what I expected.

So now the little asshole has been a runaway for over a week now. A forum dedicated to spiders says that eventually they appear, but that is usually for adult spiders. So we’ve laid down a damp towel for him to drink from, and every few days the legs come off a cricket and it lays in a bowl of dirt, like a virgin waiting to be tossed into a volcano. We’ve done this twice, and both times the cricket has disappeared, and there is no way in hell they can get around well without legs.
The next time you come over to the place, keep your eyes peeled for what may eventually become a giant hairy tarantula. I hope one day a year from now he’ll just wander back ‘home’, and I don’t know, curl up infront of the fireplace with a cup of tea and a newspaper and say “Fill me in, sweetheart, it’s been a while”. But that might be being a little overly optimistic, on many levels.