Tarantula on the Toilet Seat

A tragic arachnid tale from the land down under

Before I launch into this incident, let me preface all this with a disclaimer. I was four, maybe five when this transpired and I am the first to admit I might not have all the details right, but here’s what I remember.

I walked into the bathroom (this was in Australia, circa 1965-ish) and came eye to eye with a MASSIVE tarantula sitting on the toilet seat. The monster arachnid was the size of my head. (Ok, yes, maybe the creature has likely grown somewhat in my recollection, but I was but a tot when this happened and it seemed HUGE.)

It was hairy with bulgy black eyes and it waved its forelegs at me like it was trying to grab me.

I did not hang around long enough to investigate further but let out an ear-splitting scream, turned tail, and ran.

The conversation that followed went something as follows:

Little Nikki: Mooooommmmmy!!!!!!! HELP!!!!

Mom: What? What? Are you ok?

Little Nikki (Shaking, crying, heart racing): There’s a giant spider on the toilet!!!!

Mom (blanching but acting calm): There, there. Calm down. (Shouts) Colin! Come here!

My dad appears from somewhere, probably with a paintbrush in his hand.

Dad: What’s wrong?

Mom: Please dispatch the spider in the bathroom. I had a look. It’s a tarantula.

Little Nikki: I can never go in there again. But I have to tinkle. I’m going to wet my pants. (Hysterical sobbing despite my mother’s best efforts to calm me down)

Mom: Your father is dealing with it. There’s no need to be so dramatic.

Little Nikki: But - but how will I know it’s gone? I can’t ever go back in there! It might come baaaaack!!! (More weeping)

Mom: Colin?

Muffled noises from the bathroom.

Mom: Could you bring the corpse when you’ve killed it?

***

Ok, my adult self now steps in to say, this was entirely unnecessary and inappropriate. The tarantula may have been huge and hairy but it was essentially harmless. What could have happened next, and might have if my last name had been Durrell, is that someone could have found an oversized jam jar and captured the creature so we could have had a good scientific investigation prior to releasing it back into the wild. I’m sad to say this is not what happened.

***

I do not know exactly how my father killed the spider. I have this weird memory an ax was involved, but more likely it was a palette knife - why would we have had an ax in Sydney? What I remember next is Mom saying, “Look at it now. You see? It can never come back.”

I didn’t want to look, but did (nobody argued with my mother) - could only manage a quick glance - just enough to know that the pieces of spider on the bread board were never going to sit on another toilet seat.

Gads. I am really sorry (now) for the spider, but at the time, this brave act of my soft-spoken, kind-hearted father secured his status in my eyes as a hero, someone who would come to my rescue no matter what.

I will need to do some more drawing for this one - but the scene has more or less written itself as I dredged it up out of the memory bank.