On a clear summer evening, ’round about 9 p.m., I’m sitting in my dining room listening to music and reading a book. David, my husband, is in the living room watching TV.
All of a sudden, a bird flies into the house. Mr. Haney, the cat, sees it and begins the chase. I’ve seen the cat in pursuit of birds many times, but he is acting very differently now. Then I begin to wonder: what kind of bird flies into the house at night?
A bat! I freak out. I’ve heard that 10 bats were recently euthanized because they had rabies. I look around for a shelter and a weapon; all that’s near is my apron and a paper plate. I cover my head with the apron (like it’s some kind of magic cape) and start slicing and dicing the air with the paper plate, shouting “Get out of here! I’ll kill you!”
I ask David to get a towel and try to subdue or catch the bat. He can’t even get close as this bat has his super-sonar-thing on. The bat flies down the hallway with the three of us (David, me and Mr. Haney) close behind. He flies into a bedroom and we quickly slam the door shut. After a few minutes’ discussion, we decide to open the door slowly, turn on the light, close the closet doors and, since the windows are already open, pop the screens out, hoping the bat will find his way out.
We blockade the threshold under the door. David asks, “Why are you wigging out? The cats have their rabies shots.”
“Yes, but we didn’t get our rabies vaccinations,” I reply.
The next day, we cautiously peek into the room to see if said bat has vacated the premises. All seems OK, but I keep the door firmly closed and the threshold secure.
Our next-door neighbors bring over tomatoes and I relay the bat tale. I ask their advice on my plan to blow a whistle in the hall in hopes this will drive batty out of hell and to freedom (if he’s still in the room). One of them offers to loan me her emergency alert gadget, which is way louder than the loudest smoke detector you’ve heard. “Just pull the pin like a grenade and throw it in.” She assures me the sound will drive out any and all living creatures, and possibly raise the dead.
The following day, when I call the neighbors to tell them I’ll pop over and return their device, they answer by asking, “Is this Batman’s house calling?”
The same day, a friend calls and asks what’s new and I relay the bat tale. She says, “You know, if you have a tennis racket, you could win the Bat Masterson Final.”
“If I could outfit that tennis racket with a six-shooter, I’d seriously consider the challenge,” I said.
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