Sometimes we do things we're not proud of. He was, after all, just in the wrong place at the wrong time and if he had been the kind of cuddly creature that inspired the "awwww" factor instead of the "eeeek!" response, he'd have been treated a lot more gently. We might have even kept him as a pet.
Fuzzy he was, at least the fat, round derriére. Not as hairy as some of his cousins, but enough for us to definitely identify him as a member of the dreaded Theraphosidae family. He somehow cornered himself, only a foot away from the Capt's chair, this morning and sat there for quite a while, hoping he was invisible. But he wasn't.
"Get rid of him!" I cried, doing my Lady MacBeth impression. And so the Capt zapped him with a bit of bug spray, enough to stun him, then trapped him on top of a file folder, beneath a coffee cup. A brave man, my Capt. He carried the beast outside, left him in the brush at the fringe of the golf course. He was still moving — in fact he covered quite a lot of ground before we lost sight of him. I wished him well, hoped he'd recover from his poisoning and hereafter, remember to stay out of houses.