I was dismayed to discover you there in the morning.
Your significant size signaled a sigh of relief on my part (because I would have been in quite a quandary if you had been still alive - I would have preferred to place you outside, but squeamishness and doubt about your degree of deadly or debilitating poison may have overridden my altruistic intent and made me secure a solid shoe in my grasp instead...)
You took a simple stroll with your eight furry legs sometime during the night down into the tub, never to climb out again.
I was surprised and saddened to see you, empty of a little spider soul, in that curled-leg perplexing and peculiar posture that is prevalent and particular to arachnid deaths.
Then I irreverently conducted a photo shoot, since you were so huge and I knew I'd blog about you. Consider it a memorial.
I'll utilize a broom and dustpan to deliver you to a green and grassy grave today (in the front bushes).
Now, that is, that four days have passed and I am completely and confidently convinced that you are, actually, dead.
(don't judge me. I use another shower anyway.)