Sunday, July 18, 2010

The Tale of Nine Bats

Once upon a time, I lived in a charming little bat-free house. It was quaint and fun, and no one ever worried about crawling into bed at night. That all changed on July the 4th, even though I didn't know it yet.

I was celebrating my independence as a United States civilian with my Lexington family when I received a text message. Oh my gosh, it read, there is a bat on the stairs followed by a panicked telling of a frightening escape from a near-death experience. I assumed my roommate had found a bat outside our little house, reacted with a satisfactory, oh no!!! Poor you and proceeded with my celebrating, forgetting almost instantly the peril thrust upon my best friend. (Now, this post is not about my loyalty, concern for my pals, or lack thereof; as such we will leave that topic well alone.)

A few days later, still reveling in my freedom and feeling frantic over a certain impending wedding, I came home and began a hasty sweep of the house to hide all of the mess in Aaron's room. Cramming all my shoes upstairs, I came back down and began clearing the sink in the kitchen. As I gathered an armful and headed for the dining room, I spotted a dark thing attached to the wall over the doorway that I hadn't noticed before.

At first I honestly thought it was a mouse trap with a mouse caught in it. On the wall. Six feet up and not close to ANY surface. (my genius is not the topic of this post either.) I peered closely, trying to figure out why my brain was suddenly freezing into a slushy puddle of terror. Suddenly, my roommate's recent episode flashed into my head. I dropped my armful, clapping my hand over my mouth, and whirled to run. On the wall behind me I saw another, at head level. I had a vision at that moment of him waking up, glancing into my horror-struck eyes, and transforming into some wicked screaming little devil, and that being the last sight I would ever lay eyes on.

So of course, I did what any sensible, smart, safe almost-married-woman would do. I knelt so my trembling legs wouldn't betray me, turned white as a ghost, and whispered for Candy Man. Thankfully he was right behind me and asked me to go outside. However, since my legs wouldn't move, I think he ended up dragging me out eventually, into the pouring rain, with my whole body shaking like I had consumed wayyy too much Red Bull.

And then he got a bucket and he caught those little guys. They didn't even resist, totally sleep-drugged. And he stepped around me in the doorway, wet and mumbling, and took them to the end of our street, and set them free. And when he came back, I was telling myself that it was okay to come out of full panic mode, that no, the Jigsaw Killer had not found me and I was not part of a new sadistic Saw movie. So I burst into tears, rocking back and forth and begging. I begged to move. I begged to stay the night at my mommy's. I begged for a hug, and got one. It was a wet hug in the rain.

In all, we have caught NINE bats so far. I say we, but I mean Aaron. I've just been here, curled up in my little corner, fearfully keeping guard and fully ready to scream my guts out next time. Please, somebody adopt me? I am a friendly, loving 23 year old seeking new home with no pests of any kind.


Princess Jo said...

omg...I can't believe that.

Here in Australia we don't really get bats in houses, but we do get possums in the roof. But you don't see them, and often don't even hear them!