With the sort of exquisite courtesy one likes in a houseguest, our spider has politely taken down his web this morning and retired into cracks in the wall. (I flailed through the air madly with a stick for a few minutes before venturing outside, mind you, but no web.) If he decides to make a habit of this, I'll allow him to stay. As long as he's on the other side of glass, and the web is gone by ten, he's a beneficial little predator and I have no quarrel with him.
It's weird, but he's so big that he's almost less scary. Small spiders have that AGGH! Scurrying! thing, but provided he doesn't ever touch me, the fact that I can see all of his moving parts clearly makes him almost an honorary vertebrate. It's like having a web-spinning lobster rather than an evil bug.
If only he'd eat millipedes...
My bugs should be so polite
My home seems to have become a haven for all manner of exoskeletal beasts that make a habit of appearing at random in every conceivable location. It's fortunate that I'm not arachnophobic, or waking up to see a spider descending from the ceiling onto my face might illicit more of a response than "okay, you just blew your indoor privileges. Time for you to go outside and think about what you've done".
Spider Intelligence...
But my absolutely *favourite* spider must be the spiny monstrosity with the three inch leg span and clearly visible, palpating fangs that persisted in building its web in the outdoor toilet of my grandmother's cottage and crouching in the centre, directly over the light switch. At night, it was kind of a choice between the evil you knew (which was often very reluctant to crawl out of the way) and the uknown evil, possibly with a larger leg span, that might be lurking under the seat.