After weeks and weeks with no sign of my little, five-legged friend, I have come to the conclusion that he must have met the fate of that scary statistic that people like to throw at you to make you squirm. Yes, he probably has become one of the seven spiders I will supposedly swallow (in my sleep?) over the course of a year (or is it my lifetime?). I already know of one spider who has filled that spot - I accidentally inhaled it at my cousins' house. My heart grieves.
I searched google images to try and come up with a picture of the type of spider Quintus is/was, but couldn't find anything too close. Instead, I started getting the mad urge to yank my bare feet off the ground and scream. But I did find a picture of the world's largest spider. Its leg span measure 1 foot across. That's 12 inches baby. If that isn't shudder-worthy, I don't know what is. Would I still love Quintus if he was that kind of spider? Absolutely not.
But part of me refuses to accept that Quintus is really dead. Until I have a body to prove it, I will always hold out hope that Quintus is alive and well in some nook or cranny, maybe with a lady spider and children of his own.