I am cloistered in my room with Dog because when I got home just now there was a GIANT huntsman on the wall just beside the front door as you enter the flat. I was so awed by its vast spidery-ness that I seriously contemplated leaving all the bags and baggages I'd hauled up the steps after staying at a friend's place outside the front door overnight so I wouldn't have to go past it again.
And that's saying something - Cloud 9 is Huntsman City from about November to, apparently, about March, so by now I really should have an almost ho-hum attitude to the things. I average about one to two a week with the exception of the memorable occasion when two moved in at once. I'm sorry to say that I spray them because I'm too much of a chicken to catch them or squish them. I always spray them for ages in the hope that they'll die more quickly and hopefully less painfully (I hate to spray them, but the last time I tried catching one and putting it outside I lost (to be truthful, practically hurled) the broom over the edge of the balcony because I couldn't get the spider off it and it was taking large and determined strides up the broom handle towards me!).
Anyway, tonight's spider was such a monster that even after I sprayed him - and sprayed him - and sprayed him - he kept heading for me, and you could just about hear his footfalls thudding against the ceiling. At that I shrieked (only mentally, fortunately) and, with Dog under one arm, raised the drawbridge and closed the portcullis (ie, shut myself and Dog in my bedroom), leaving Mr Spider to his fate.
For the first half hour of our incarceration I left the overhead light on and Dog was confined with me to my bed in case Mr Spider found his way under the bedroom door, but I think the chances of that have diminished with the passage of time - however I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do when it comes time to have a shower and brush my teeth, because when last seen Mr Spider was heading in the direction of the bathroom/bedrooms and I have an awful feeling that I'll open the bedroom door and find him standing, legs splayed, against it, yelling, in thunderous tones and spidery accents, LET ME IN! Then I think Dog and I will have to tie my bedsheets together and escape through the window...