Life, the universe, and spiders.

I have a pet spider. I don't keep him in a cage and torture him with limiting his existance. He is probably a she, but his name is Phil.
Phil lives outside Hawley quad-side door. Not too much human traffic goes through there, but Phil is smart. Phil is very big. Her abdomen is the size of a nickel. Phil is big because she is smart. Phil makes big strong webs that you can't see because you are distracted by the brightness of the lights around the door. This is why Phil is big.
Phil listens to me talk. I sit on the little brick ledge next to the door and look up to the stars, and Phil sits and busily knits her web of brilliance. I accidentaly broke her anchor strand once. It felt like a strand of elastic it was so strong. She forgave me I think, but for three days she pouted, curled up into a ball in the corner of the light fixture. It was raining a lot, and I don't think she had much luck fishing. But now she's back, stretched out in all her copper glory, waiting for her next meal and thinking up ways to make her web just that much prettier.
My poor Phil. She is sometimes my only friend. I wish I could have a pet. My plants are very nice, but they don't talk. Although I think they like the recording of the thunderstorm I play next to them. They have grown healthier since then.
I just hope nobody hurts Phil, out of fear or spite. I hope she can just continue to exist, and I hope she's happy.