Anybody out there ever seen a bat up close? I mean, up REALLY CLOSE? I have, now.
Sunday night, 11:00 p.m. Medaryville. Clan is settling in for a cozy snooze. With no warning, the Octopus lets out a blood-curdling scream and runs into our bedroom, all the way around to the other side of the bed. His continued screams lead us to believe he has injured himself horribly, but a quick once-over reveals two arms, two legs, 10 fingers, 12 toes…hmmmm, normal…all seems to be in place, and there is no blood to be seen. “There’s a bird!” he shouts over and over.
More screams, slamming of doors.
Hot Wife and Irksome venture cautiously into the hallway…
Hokie smokes! There’s a dadgum bat in the house! Beady eyes, small furry body, long fingernails, big origami wings…yikes!
Now, a few thoughts spring to mind very quickly when one realizes there is a venomous, evil, decidedly nasty little creature in the house that clearly belongs outside, but has somehow made its way inside.
- Why is that thing in here?
- How did it get here?
- Do you think it will fly back out on its own?
- How much is a flight to Costa Rica?
- How quickly can we sell this house?
A moment or two later, however, clearer heads prevail, and we begin to process how to get rid of the monster. Now, I’m no professional, but I have seen The Great Outdoors with John Candy and Dan Akroyd, so I do have a modicum of expertise in this area. At the very least, I know that a tennis racquet, a broom, and some sort of headgear (to prevent the Big Evil from laying eggs in my hair as it buzzes the tower) are required for safe and quick removal of bats. HW begins imploring the Natural to “be a man, and join your dad to get rid of that thing!” and shoves him out of the bedroom, much to his consternation.
Down to the basement we sprint–trudge, maybe–to prepare for battle with this creature whose intentions clearly do not include our health and well-being. I don’t know why it is that bats view eating mosquitoes and humans with equal gusto, but evidence demands that we accept that as reality, MythBusters be damned. A tennis racquet with a broken handle for the Natural, a racquetball racquet with broken strings for Irk…we’re both right-handed, so what goes in the off hand that can be used simultaneously for offense and defense? There is no question in either of our minds that this mean bird will come in for the kill as soon as it sees we have its demise in mind…mean birds such as this may not be fully acquainted with human accoutrements, but I bet they are well-schooled in brooms and racquet sports. We settle on blankets for the off hand…if we can’t whack it, we’ll smother it.
Back up to the library–this appears to be a studious Diphylla ecaudata, as it prefers the library to all other possibilities. Having gotten only a brief glance, it certainly appeared to be the Hairy-Legged Vampire Bat, that most fiendish of all winged creatures. Where is the crazy thing? Five minutes ago it was treating the upper level of our house its own personal wind tunnel, but now it’s completely out of sight. Do you suppose it has gone? Probably no such luck…better to stay on the hunt rather than have it reappear in the wee hours of the morning to lay eggs in our hairs. Cautiously–really cautiously–always with weapons at the ready, we move books, DVDs, cushions, toys, clothes… What in the world? Where did it go? Chances that it left the area are slim to none, as all access to upstairs rooms has been cut off by doors that are locked, deadbolted, and nailed shut. Whimpers and the occasional scream can still be heard within.
Ten minutes of search prove fruitless. Relieved, we come to the conclusion that the H-L VB has moved on to greener pastures. I can’t say I blame it–I never made it on the tennis circuit, but I still swing a pretty mean baseball bat, which prevents me from hitting a golf ball straight but may aid in the slaughter of a Hairy-Legged Vampire Bat. It no doubt had ideas about spraying eggs in our hair, but I was equally motivated to dispatch it post haste. The Natural goes to bed. Hot Wife settles down with the Octopus, who couldn’t be removed from the behind that door with anything less than a full SWAT team–he’s taken himself hostage. I take the armament back to the basement.
Now, I don’t throw around the word “hero” lightly, but I’ll go ahead and apply it to myself in this case. With the rest of the Clan behind their triple-bolted doors, I sleep on the couch in the library on the off chance that the H-L VB should choose to make an encore. I have to be entertained for a little while before I can get to sleep, and since Hot Wife isn’t available this evening (snicker, snicker–a little racy humor…she loves this sort of thing on the blog), I decide to pop that greatest of all current shows, The Office, into the DVD player. Halfway into the first episode, I hear a rustle and, out of the corner of my eye, notice something that seems to be out of place.
Drat, it’s back! With no one to help me defend the homestead, it’s all up to me this time. The scream I emitted upon positive re-identification of the Hairy-Legged Vampire Bat seems to have gone unheralded. My, they’ve certainly fallen sound asleep quickly this evening!
Because all vampire species fear light, I turn the library lights back on, as well as the hall lights, the kitchen lights, the garage lights… First, I need to re-arm. While proceeding from the library to the stairs, the flippin’ thing comes winging from the hallway back to the library. Pastor Tom–forgive me–but I confess that a bad word has emitted from my mouth with great volume. I retrieve the racquetball racquet and choose a pillow for my backup plan should it attack from my blind side. This time I have an easier time finding it–somehow, it is hanging on the sheer wall. It makes sense that a Hairy-Legged Vampire Bat would have fangs and claws sufficient to dig in on a wall, but it’s still creepy to see it hanging there.
Having no better plan, I fling the pillow at the bird, but miss. Retrieving a second pillow, I toss again…success, right on the end of his nose! But rather than fall helplessly to the floor, the H-L VB takes to the wing! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Swing and a miss, strike one…swing and a miss, strike two…(was that eggs that I just felt landing in my hair?)…one more miss and I’m out! Here it comes again, from the hallway into the library. Like Casey, I take a mighty cut, but unlike Casey, I connect solidly and the H-L VB is propelled against the wall, then falls limply to the floor. Interesting–a closer glance reveals that it evidently retracted its fangs and claws upon contact with the racquet, much like a turtle. I use a toy to scrape it onto the racquet (toy will remain unnamed, lest it never receive use again) and toss it outside.
In the morning the Vampire Bat is nowhere to be found. Did a cat eat it, or did it come back to life?
