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I used to live in a large Victorian house in south-east London with my landlady and her boyfriend.

We all shared the living room, dining room and kitchen and got on very well with each other. My landlady and her boyfriend were also extremely understanding and supportive of my frequently changing hobbies. There was the time I boiled a rat's skull in a saucepan to make customised jewellery. And the time I stripped my 750cc motorbike in the living room, dumping a tank full of petrol over the carpet. Then there was the stand-off between my 11foot python and one of the cats, which destroyed the curtains in a bid to escape. My landlady might not have minded snakes but she was very afraid of spiders. I knew this when I bought my tarantula. As you can imagine, she was horrified at the prospect of living in the same house as a Mexican red knee, but I convinced her of my need for this spider. I pleaded his rarity - there were perhaps only a few hundred left in the world (not including the 20 or so in the pet shop). I told her London Zoo was starting a breeding programme and I had a male which was even rarer. Naturally, they would be interested in using my spider as a mate for its females. I persuaded her that it would be good company for my iguana. I promised that my baby spider of one inch across would definitely not get any bigger (I omitted to tell her that it was classified as a bird-eating spider with an adult leg span of about six inches) Finally, when I promised faithfully to keep him locked in a box in a locked glass aquarium in my locked room, she reluctantly agreed. The day the tarantula escaped, my landlady was at work. ... si aici tre sa intervin eu adica tu :D I went to the grocery store and when I was back I realised that the top of the aquarium has been pushed away and my beloved spider was missing. At that short notice I didnt realise the importance of the big escape. My only concern was not to step on my little pet. But only when I heard the front door closing I managed to connect the escape to my landladys fear of spiders. Then I started to panic and desperately look for my Mexican Redknee tarantula. By the time the landlady reached the kitchen, I had already searched the bathroom and the livingroom. When I met her, I was somewhat calm, but when I saw my five-inch spider crawling behind her on the fridge, I instantly started to sweat and tremble. As she started talking to me, my baby spider was looking at her not realising the stress that it put me through. I roughly talked to my landlady, who was very happy and joyfull not knowing what creature was standing behind her. Then I had the brilliant idea to pretend hearing a phone ringing, which was not mine. The landlady ran to the other room to check on her phone. I rapidly grabbed the spider and rushed to my room, when I tumbled upon the landlady which was returning to the kitchen telling me that her phone is in there. Inspired by movies I now regret seeing, I put the poor spider in my pants and walked slowly to my room. I cannot imagine how I managed to support that amount of tickling. I finally entered my room and put Mr. Tickle back into his box. From what happened in that day, my spider got a name, Mr. Tickle, and I gained immunity to tickling.