Not to belabor a point, but I am really not a fan of bats. I don’t mind them outside, where I know they provide a needed part of our ecosystem. I occasionally even enjoy them swooping around above the tree tops, if I am safely ensconced near a roaring campfire. But, inside my house, I am not a fan at all.
I have told you before of our adventures with the flying creatures. In the past two weeks, we’ve had two more batcapades, and honestly, I am getting a little tired of this particular excitement.
The first one happened in mid-evening, when we were watching one of our favorite television shows. Ten minutes before the end, I noticed the swirling figure in the hallway. I immediately said to Matt, “there’s a bat in here.” A calm response, given the circumstance, I thought, as I made a bound into the bathroom and slammed the door.
From there, I supervised the process of removing the bat. This included my usual helpful behavior which meant calling helpful suggestions from behind the closed door, such as “turn on all the lights,” and “get it out.” I may have been more squealing than calling, per se, but it has always worked in the past. Fortunately, the bat got so tired of flying around, seemingly unable to find the wide-open door, that he fell to the floor. Matt quickly covered him in a large towel, took him outside, and showed him the woods.
Then, just a few nights ago, as we went upstairs to bed, Matt pointed out an incredibly large bat hanging in the corner of the stairwell. We took our usual paths to this disaster. He stood, quietly assessing how to best approach the bat. I scurried to the upstairs bathroom, again anxiously saying, “get it out. Get it out, get it out, get it out.”
For many long moments, I heard nothing. Then, Matt said that he was going to need my help.
My help? Was he kidding? Apparently all my training in bat removal over the years has been unsuccessful.
As it turns out, the bat had resisted his efforts to scoop him into a wastebasket. Since the wastebasket was round, the bat simply climbed a little higher into the corner. Matt had to get a square box and a file folder, so that he could trap the pesky thing more easily. Matt needed both hands to keep the file folder on top of the open box with the bat inside. My help was needed to open the back door.
This meant that for several long seconds I was downstairs with the possibility of a winged beast escaping and finding me, or at the very least, plunging into my hair or biting me. I was brave. I stood by the door, ready and willing to leap outside into the pouring rain if need be.
Without incident, Matt escorted our unwelcome guest out and into the woods, too. Matt’s my hero. But honestly, we need to find out how these guys are getting in here.
Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
Sue is a retired public servant who volunteers at the Hospice store (For All Seasons) in Troy and teaches part-time at Urbana University. She keeps busy taking care of husband, house, and pets. She and her husband have an adult son who lives in Troy.