The possibility of lynx or wolves being brought back to our land thrills and terrifies in equal measure. But one creature has already been successfully returned to the wild that many people may find scarier: one of Britain’s largest arachnids, the palm-sized, fish-devouring fen raft spider.

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This handsome and completely harmless-to-humans spider, which can walk across the water thanks to its 8cm leg-span and enjoys a varied diet of pond skaters, water beetles and newt tadpoles, was threatened with extinction five years ago.

Reduced to just three locations, it is now thriving on four new sites on the Norfolk and Suffolk Broads after a pioneering project in which ecologist Helen Smith heroically hand-reared 6,000 baby spiders and released these three-month-old spiderlings on nature reserves in the Yare and Waveney valleys.

Environmental groups including the RSPB, Suffolk Wildlife Trust, the Broads Authority and Natural England have restored habitat so the spiders can prosper. On my local RSPB reserve, Strumpshaw Fen, more than 480 of the spider’s beautiful, crystal-like “nursery” webs have been counted this autumn, compared with 184 last year. Strictly speaking, this is not a reintroduction but a translocation. And yet the principle – giving an endangered native species a helping hand – is the same.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A fen raft spider catches a fish

Critics argue that “playing God” with individual species is expensive or futile “wildlife gardening” but this restoration (a form of rewilding) is the best hope for the conservation movement. The great inhibitor to saving our environment is that horrible feeling that we can’t make a difference. Bringing back species – red kites, sea eagles, otters, great bustards, beavers and large blue butterflies are a few recent success stories – fires imaginations and inspires activism. It’s not superficial work either – for any reintroduction to succeed, a wider environment must be put right: so the restoration of the short-haired bumblebee in Kent, for instance, requires the repair of thousands of acres of marshland, which benefits hundreds of other species too.

I’ve not yet seen a fen raft spider but I can’t wait to pay homage when my impressive new neighbour emerges from hibernation in the spring, a living symbol of how a passion for small things might just save our planet.

Macavity, king of cats

A rediscovered poem by TS Eliot shows his talent for capturing the spirit of cats. His lines about Cumberleylaude, a “culinary lout” who cadges food from all his neighbours, are funny and true. I’m currently receiving an education in picture-books and only recently discovered Eliot’s Macavity the Mystery Cat in picture-book form. References to Napoleon and Scotland Yard baffle my toddlers but they are transfixed by the charisma of Macavity, who trumps the inferior cats of contemporary picture-books. Julia Donaldson’s Tabby McTat is good, but the only children’s cat who comes close to Macavity is the magnificent Mog. Judith Kerr’s prose is as precise as great poetry and Mog is both an authentic cat and a wonderful personification of childhood.

Blaze of glory

As winter approaches, the bounty from a leylandii hedge I hacked down in the spring comes into its own. On Sunday, I heaved its old stumps into a circle and created a fire pit. Woodsmoke in autumn is a seasonal treat and huddling by an outdoor fire on a cold day is, literally, a revelatory experience. People seem to open up when gathered around one. I’m sure it’s still possible to dissemble when faced with (unthreatening) flames but I might propose a fireside chat with my next Guardian interviewee. Political interrogations around a campfire would make great telly too: I can just picture Robert Peston bringing fine scarves and fire to ITV.