Adventures with city pests

My husband and I have known our share of pests in our teensy city apartment - not that we're filthy people, but this isn't a squeeky-clean luxury condo in Bel Air (a la Fresh Prince pool house). This is the city, and if you're going to embrace it, you have to pay your dues with a little teeth-grinding over four-legged, six-legged, eight-legged, 20-legged creepy-crawlies that invade your spaces. We've had a mouse or two (or ten...ahem), and several of those damn silver fish that seem to get bigger and grow more legs by the day. Now, we're lucky enough to live in a place with a fresh little garden right outside our door, a quiet space where neighbors could mingle - that is, if we weren't dead-set on ignoring each other to prove that we're tough-skinned city folk - that offers sprays of beautiful pinks, purples and yellows and swaths of green enough to tickle any park-starved-city-dweller's fancy. A few days ago, my husband and I discovered, in this little nook of green space right outside our door, a giant web, with a giant spider busy at its center, its legs frantic with earnest work. We examined it for awhile, commented with astonishment at the magnificence of its web (it was a good four feet across), and left it alone, off in its corner to do its nature-lovin' thing. For the past several days, we've noticed that his web disappears and reappears (Does he really rebuild it every night?, we ask each other. Wow! That's amazing!) But last night, as I made my way home in the dark, rounded the corner to our door, I felt the distinct, slight, uncomfortable brush of a single silk strand run across my face. I turned to see myself face to face with our little friend, who had apparently decided that it was time to expand his territory into ours. I shuddered at the thought of a humongous, spotted spider (does that mean it's poisonous?) running up my neck, disoriented and scared, fangs ready. I dragged my husband downstairs, toting a long, flat box as our weapon of choice, and with one smooth stroke, the large anchors of his web were broken, the silk sinking slowly into a one-dimensional line, and the spider going with it. With another swoop of his arms, my husband had catapulted the spider across the yard. I pouted a bit. It seemed like such a rough hit! Couldn't you be more gentle? What if you killed him? I understand his point - he really did have to be put properly in his place, but I hope that he's still out there, ready to get busy on the other side of the garden!