Just under a week ago, Spencer came into my life.
Of course, I didn't know his name then; that came later. And, to be honest, I didn't much like him at first.
It all began last Monday, and I captured the slightly inauspicious start on Twitter:
"And....I opened the front door and walked face first into a cobweb. Yeeuch."
The spider got me again the following day - sticky strands of web left trailing across my hair as I knocked him to the floor.
Surprisingly, my request on Twitter for ways to move him on, actually came up with a number of responses. I couldn't bring myself to squirt hairspray on the web, although apparently that would have done the trick. And naturally I quickly dismissed Philip's suggestion that we might clean the house.
By day three, I thought I'd got smart. I remembered the web booby trap, remembered to open my eyes, and ducked as I left home for work.
It was early. I hadn't reckoned on the neighbours being up and about. I'd missed a web hair-do, but my smugness was diminished when I realised the man across the road had been watching my very odd ducking behaviour.
By day four, the spider had worked out that living in the doorway was just too hazardous; he'd moved to the window frame. As I looked out before setting off to work, the early morning sun glinted on the diamante dewdrops caught on the web.
And a strange thing happened. Before I'd even thought of it, I'd received a Tweet asking me how the spider was. From someone I don't even know.
What the ???
Next day I was working at home. No need to rush out the door, no need to even think about the outside world for a while, but I found myself drawn to the front window to check if the spider was still there.
He was. That was when I decided to give him a name.
My Twitter friends seemed to like the name, they soon picked it up. He was no longer just a spider, he was Spencer the Spider.
And so, it went on until today. Saturday; the one day in the week I really, really want to lie in bed. I should have known better than to reach for my phone and check Twitter.
It was only just gone 8 o'clock and someone had already asked me for a Spencer update.
"I'm worried about Spencer. It was a cold night"
My relaxing lie-in was ruined, I felt compelled to go downstairs and check.
He was fine. In fact he'd had a busy night, spinning spider silk down from the window, across the bench and into the log pile. It looked beautiful. I began to wonder, if we left him alone for long enough, whether he might eventually cover the whole front of the house in webs, trapping me like a princess in my castle.
During the day, references to Spencer kept creeping into our conversation. Philip asked if I was planning to change the cat's name to Marks (so we'd have Marks & Spencer).
I suggested I could write a children's book, my beloved wanted to elaborate - he wanted a story from Spencer's perspective; telling just how the spider felt when the idiot woman walked through his web day after day.
So now it's Saturday evening. As I sit here typing this, I've no idea if there will be a spider outside tomorrow. I'm not sure how I'll feel if he's upped and disappeared.
And I can't help but wonder what sort of mad, mad world it is, where I decide to make a pet of a spider, and where people I love, and people who I've never met, indulge and encourage my insanity.