It’s officially spider season – I’m never happier

Instead of bolting at the sight of them, when it comes to spiders I’m my family’s in-house zoophilist

SPIDERMUM, Spidermum / Scream for help / And she will come
Forget mists and mellow fruitfulness; autumn is the time of year when I get to demonstrate my superpower. I never used to consider my abiding affection for arachnids any sort of big deal but the recent slew of frankly hysterical articles about “seasonal home invasions” has given me pause.
I like spiders. I have a lot of time for spiders, especially at this time of year when their garden webs delicately glisten with dew.
Crucially, I also have no fear of them. None. And I have little truck with those who do; grown men who shriek like little girls. Little girls who cry like silly babies and so forth.
Which is why I get called upon day and night to rescue and eject any interlopers; from ceilings, corners, baths and soft furnishings, while my husband pretends to be wiring something. 
Most recently my 15-year-old found a whopper scuttling around on the black Wednesday Addams drapes that billow over her bed. At 2am, if you please.
Frankly I should have thought a spider or two would be absolutely bang on brand but she disagreed. Vehemently. She also performatively expressed her horror that I was using my hands to gently catch and convey said spider out of her room. Why ever not?
I released it outside, but not so far outdoors that it couldn’t come right back in again if it liked. Spiders on the move at this time of year tend to be lovelorn males on the hunt for a mate before they die. 
Who am I to stand in judgement and deprive them of their life’s purpose? Live and let scuttle around with eyes in the wrong place and too many legs, I say.
A spider is always preferable to a fly, although I do note that Hurt No Living Thing, Christina Rossetti’s didactic verse about preserving the tiny minibeasts of the natural world, commits the venial sin of not mentioning cardinal spiders.
I feel quite noble rescuing things; on holiday in France this year, the fabulous medieval gîte we stayed in was visited nightly by bats that entered at ground level then flew to the upper floors and circled, lower and lower until they were almost touching our heads.
By the end of our stay I knew the drill; confine to a single room, throw open the windows and turn the lights off. But I kept a tea towel handy to remove any that had decided to stay and were hanging upside down from the beams.
It did feel like I had been bestowed with a special gift as I alone had the fearlessness (foolishness?) to capture and release these beautiful creatures into the night – while my husband stayed out of the way downstairs and muttered dire warnings about contracting rabies.
Evicting an arachnid may not be as dramatic but it’s a nice feeling, knowing I am putting it out of harm’s way. And shucks, if my family gasp in astonishment at my selfless bravery, well that’s just an added bonus. All in a night’s work for spidermum.