Last weekend was a bad bat weekend. The horror of what happened at the midnight showing of the new Batman movie in Aurora, Colorado is beyond comprehension. I grieve for those killed, aching on a minor scale compared to the hurt being suffered by the families and friends of those lost. There is really not much more to say about that, except perhaps to hope that someday we will live in a world free of such senseless mass violence.
Where that bad bat event was tragic beyond description, my bad bat experience was ridiculous. Saturday night, I went to bed at a reasonable hour, as I continued to adjust to being back on this continent. I woke at a completely unreasonable hour, around midnight, to a bat circling around my bedroom. I've got to admit, it's pretty unnerving to wake up to some winged creature flapping right above your head. It took me a brief second or two to come to grips with what was going on, but once I did, I did the manly thing, which (to me anyway, self-preservationist that I am) was duck under the covers.
I daringly shot a hand out to turn on the bedside lamp (okay, maybe it wasn't that daring) in hopes that Mr. Bat would prefer the darkness elsewhere in the house, and miraculously, it worked. Or maybe he (she?) just coincidentally left the room. I'm just glad that's what happened. I dashed to the bedroom door and shut it, establishing an appropriate barrier between me and my new friend. Well, now what?
Step one: Put on a thick long sleeve shirt and jeans. Step two: Find cat. Cat safely under bed. I'm not sure she ever knew there was a bat in the house, which is probably a very good thing. Lacking a pith helmet, there was little else to do but face my fate of now finding the bat and trying to get it out of the house.
I did a room to room search, sealing off places the bat was not. I finally found the little bugger hanging in the corner of my dining room. I dodged past with the swiftness and grace of a gazelle, into the kitchen to acquire ammo--hand towels--and opened the patio door. Ducking behind the hallway door into the dining room, I prepared my shot. I fired a towel across the room and scored a direct hit! I may or may not have squealed like a little girl as I quickly retreated behind the door. I gave it a few seconds. Opened the door. The vermin was nowhere to be seen.
This was good news, until I realized that I wasn't sure he wasn't still inside, planning a counter attack. But seeing nothing, I closed the patio door, checked every nook and cranny of the house another nine times, and then went back to bed for what can only be described as a restless night's sleep. Every little normal nighttime noise became my bat buddy, back for revenge. My worry was luckily unneeded, as my ridiculous plan had worked to perfection. I can't imagine there'd be a chance in the world that if a bat gets in again I'd get so lucky a second time, so here's hoping that's the last visit of that type I get.