A House full of Butterflies

At the end of summer small tortoiseshell butterflies put on weight, converting sugar and water nectar into fats ready for hibernation. They look for a dark cool space, like a cave or under ivy leaves.  A garden shed is ideal. Most years a fair number find themselves inside the house and creep into the darkest corners, the folds of the curtains, the airing cupboard, or above the electricity meter. In the wild they sink into a deep torpor and only wake occasionally if there is a warm sunny day. In the house there is constant fluctuation of temperature but I am not sure what the tipping point is for waking up or if they are triggered by an internal clock. Over the past week they have been popping out of their secluded spots and dozily fluttering around. Saving butterflies from being crushed has become a major evening past-time. They will generally wobble onto a finger for transport into the cooler utility room. This one is still fast asleep in a corner of the sitting room, which would seem a better tactic for survival. 
Unless the spider in the opposite corner sees it first.