I am no longer afraid of spiders

In a recent episode of Would I Lie to You? Rob Brydon joked that the best way to deal with a spider is with a glass and piece of cardboard: you put the cardboard over the spider and bash it to death with the glass. Cue massive hilarity all round.

Except I wasn't laughing. I know it was a joke but it actually made me feel really sad, partly because I used to feel that way about spiders myself. I didn't mind tiny money spiders but if one any bigger than that ever came near me I'd scream and shout for the nearest man to remove it by any means possible.

I'm also guilty of having killed my own fair share of spiders through the years, usually with a vacuum cleaner, and without a nano-second's thought. As far as I was concerned, spiders were nasty creatures that needed to be eradicated from the face of the earth, that they somehow didn't deserve a place on it. Or at least a place in the same room as me.

I'd prefer it if they were removed humanely – chucked out of the window, for example – but if that wasn't possible, I didn't particularly care how they were dealt with. Squished, bashed, stamped on, thrown on the fire or flushed down the toilet, as long as you got rid of them that was fine. And if you happened to use a glass in the process I absolutely could not use that glass again, even if it had been sterilised.

This view is pretty conventional, if not universal. Spiders threaten the collective consciousness and fear of them is something most people can relate to and share in. They're not pink, fluffy or cute looking; in fact it's almost as if they were designed deliberately to inspire disgust and repulsion. Dark and hairy, scuttling about on their long spindly legs, they look ugly and play on our deepest unconscious fears. Two or four legs we can deal with, but eight? That's not right. With all those legs and eyes – eight of them too – they're like aliens. What's more, they eat flies and shed their skin.

And if that's not enough, in addition to just being poor old spiders, it's the thought of what they might do which sends people into a frenzy of terror and hysteria: falling into your mouth or scuttling over your skin at night – literally flesh-crawling. They're not called creepy crawlies for nothing.

The nausea and panic caused by spiders is so pervasive that it doesn't occur to most people to attempt to overcome their fear. Rather than deal with it, it's easier and more gratifying to cause a scene and get someone else to take care of it. Because of the way they look, spiders belong to a group of creatures which exist at the bottom of the cuteness scale – including rats and snakes (although the opposite may be argued in their case), and insects such as moths, earwigs, cockroaches and centipedes - even algae. But it's hard to think of any other creature which inspires more loathing, and constitutes more of a threat to human mental stability than spiders. Despite the fact that they are actually harmless (at least in this country), spiders bear the brunt massively.

It's because spiders are generally thought to be so horrible, and that their presence can be so devastating to people, that they continue to be subjected to what amounts to socially acceptable forms of torture. The RSPCA and other animal rights organisations work on behalf of abused and neglected animals, but no one thinks twice about the murder of insects and arachnids. In fact, such treatment is considered entertainment in TV shows such as I'm A Celebrity in the Jungle, whose blase attitudes towards insects is staggering. Personally I think I'd rather sit in a cave filled with arachnids than endure the company of a desperate z-lister whoring themselves for publicity.

I too never used to give my own attitude towards spiders and insects a second thought, and never set out to cure myself of my 'phobia'. I didn't undergo years of expensive therapy or counselling. It happened unexpectedly, if not accidentally, and via an unexpected source. Cats aren't known for their gentle treatment of insects, birds and mice. They're killers, lethal predators, stalking and lunging, pouncing on and torturing their prey, and I've seen our cat Vincenzo turn into a psychotic serial killer in the twitch of a tail. He's never actually caught any birds because they're too quick for him – if anything, they're more likely to tease him. But I myself have been treated to a sample of what he can do with his teeth and claws – my hands, wrists, forearms and feet have the scratches and bite marks to prove it.

I'm reminded too of the cats I knew when growing up, semi-feral farm cats who'd catch mice and devour large spiders, their long legs hanging out their mouths like Ali Bongo's moustache. And I admit I'm a massive hypocrite in encouraging Chenny to catch moths and flies, and praising him to the skies if he succeeds. As a 'gardener' (in the loosest sense of the word) I understand the damage and frustration caused by snails, which have made light work of my hollyhocks. We've also had to deal with an indoor ant infestation, nuking them with spray and powder.

But it's Chenny who showed me how to view all animals in a different way, so that I now look back on my old attitude to spiders with the same horror that spiders themselves used to inspire. Spiders may not be the brainiest creatures on the planet, but they can weave magical webs of breathtaking beauty – and what's the point in comparing their brains with human brains anyway? I think we humans show that the size of one's brain and being able to communicate with speech doesn't necessarily mean we've got it all worked out. Like cats, spiders are sentient beings who know fear well enough.

They may or may not not have as rich an inner life as Chenny – I wouldn't know – who like many animals, remembers kindnesses, has opinions and preferences and can communicate in a number of ways so startling as to make speech unnecessary.

Spiders too may not make for as brilliant company as Chenny, but they're his kind, and when I look at them now I don't see something horrible. I see a being with a spirit and its own unique beauty.

I hadn't realised this until a couple of weeks ago when, while vacuuming the lounge, I noticed a large spider about the size of a fifty pence piece on one of the curtains. Even though I had the vacuum pipe in my hand and could have sucked it up in a second, I just couldn't do it.

I wouldn't have minded leaving it; the idea of it being there, I found, didn't actually bother me. But the thing was, I didn't want Chenny getting hold of it either.

So I did something I never imagined I'd ever be able to do in a million years. I picked it up in my hand and took it outside. I even found myself saying, "There, darling," trying to soothe it as I did so.

They're not conventionally pretty, it's true. But walking with my husband recently along a coastal pathway lined with hedges and overhung with trees, a spider in its web hung from branches. It was just living its life, causing no bother to anyone. Not so long ago I would have recoiled in horror, but for the first time ever I was able to view it as a thing of beauty (while disliking calling it a 'thing'), one of nature's incredible creatures. As such, it seems silly to impose human standards of attractiveness upon it. So it sheds its skin? So do we, albeit on a much slower scale.

Fear in itself is OK. It's OK to be afraid of anything. It's how we deal with it that matters, and if that fear results in socially-acceptable forms of abuse and torture, then something is wrong. Spiders are easy targets, but they are innocent victims.