“There’s a WINGED SPIDER in the fire!”
Let me set the scene. It was a perfectly ordinary evening, and I was happily tucking into my tea when I noticed something moving inside the log burner. Just to clarify, the log burner was NOT lit – thank goodness. I figured it was just a bit of dust floating about and carried on eating. No big deal.
Then I saw it again. And again.
Now, I’ve got a solid track record of handling household menaces – mostly of the eight-legged variety – so I braced myself for what I assumed was about to be a showdown with the Godzilla of spiders. But tea first. Always tea first.
However, before I could finish my meal and muster the courage to face my furry-legged foe, the ‘spider’ moved again. And that’s when it hit me. This wasn’t just any spider. This was the mother of all spiders. Possibly the King of Spiders. A mutant, if you will.
At this point, curiosity got the better of me. Risking the very real possibility of Gus (my food-thieving pet) making off with my tea, I crept closer. And then, it moved again – only this time, it stumbled. What kind of spider stumbles?
And then… it spread its wings. WINGS.
Now, I am no zoologist, but even I know that spiders don’t have wings. Which meant one thing – this was no spider.
Summoning all the dignity I could manage, I called out to my partner in what can only be described as a mild shriek: “There’s a WINGED SPIDER in the fire!”
He took one look and, with the calmness of a man who doesn’t appreciate the sheer horror of the situation, simply said: “That’s a bat, you twit.”
Right. That made a lot more sense.
Now came the real dilemma. If we opened the fire door, there was a solid chance this bat would launch itself straight into my face, and I wasn’t emotionally prepared for that. I had previous form with bats, namely an incident at our old house that ended with me trapped in the bedroom while my partner conducted a full-scale rescue operation using a fishing net. Not keen on a repeat of that fiasco.
After much deliberation (and mentally preparing for the possibility of being attacked by a vampire bat), we decided that we had to set the little guy free.
Armed with an old towel (which, in all honesty, was more for my protection than the bat’s), my partner bravely opened the fire door. We held our breath. Would it soar out in a fury, fangs bared? Would we be doomed to live with a bat-infested living room? Would it bite us, leaving us to die, only to be discovered weeks later half-eaten by my own dogs?
No! Instead, it did the most un-dramatic thing possible.
It rolled out the log burner. Just… flopped onto the hearth like an exhausted partygoer. My partner scooped him up in the towel and assessed his condition: alive, intact, but definitely in need of some rest.
We placed him gently in an open box and set it outside on the garden table, giving him the chance to fly off when he was ready. Hours passed. Nothing. At this point, I had grown quite attached to my unexpected house guest and decided to move the box into one of the garden troughs for extra safety. Because, you know, owls live here too.
The Next Morning…
I rushed out, hoping to find the box empty, proof that my little bat friend had made his grand return to the wild.
Nope.
He was still there. Except now, he’d ditched the box entirely and burrowed himself into the compost. A resourceful little guy, I’ll give him that.
Aware that bats are highly protected under UK law (and not particularly keen on having a permanent lodger in my flowerbed), I rang the local vet for advice. Thankfully, they had contact with a bat specialist who could take him in.
And so, back in the box he went, and off we trotted to the vet. The phone call to my boss that morning was interesting, to say the least.
“Hi, I’ll be late logging on. Just, erm… rescuing a bat.”
I could practically hear the eye roll and smirk through the phone - she’s at it again.
The vet assured me that our little friend would be well cared for and, once back to full health, the bat would be released nearby.
A few weeks later…
Dusk fell, and as I stood in the garden, I spotted two bats flitting about in the twilight sky. Was one of them my little winged intruder, back to reclaim his territory? I’d like to think so.
Either way, next time I spot movement in the log burner, I’m just going to assume I’ve adopted another bat. Or possibly a bird. Who even knows anymore?
Here’s the Serious Stuff…
Bats are highly protected creatures under UK law due to their ecological importance and declining populations. In England, all bat species and their roosts are safeguarded by the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 and the Conservation of Habitats and Species Regulations 2017. These laws make it illegal to:
Disturb, injure, or kill a bat
Destroy or damage a bat roost (even if bats are not present)
Obstruct access to a bat roost
These protections mean that even routine building work, tree felling, or renovations could require a bat survey to ensure no disturbance to bats or their habitats. If bats are found before proceeding with the work, a mitigation licence from Natural England may be required.
If you come across bats or suspect a bat roost in your home, it’s essential to seek expert advice from organisations like the Bat Conservation Trust or your local vet to protect these fascinating creatures.
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This was fascinating and made me laugh out loud. I saw some bats flying around during lockdown but I’ve not seen them since the world reopened. I’ve always tried to avoid them, just in case they actually are vampires. 😂 If it had been a winged spider (or any kind of spider), I would have been in the next county before you could say “web”. 😁
It must be that time of year. We found a bat as well in our front yard. He climbed our stone column then hung from the siding. I called a rehabilitator who needed us to drop it off but when we got it in the box, we realized it was dead… I wonder what its story was.