The Bat and the Traitor

My cousin is hosting animal stories at her site every week until she runs out of things to share. She told a horror of a mouse story a few weeks ago and a funny story involving a name misunderstanding this week. It got me thinking about my own animal story...

Gem was only about 5 months old and we were living in a rental house. It was a tri-level (becomes an important detail later).

Jon and I had gone to bed and were finally settled in and warm when we heard something on the outside of the air conditioner unit in the far window. "It's those morning doves walking on the outside. They do that a lot in the morning," I commented to Jon. Annoyed, I rolled over on my side and closed my eyes again.

The sound continued. I thought about getting up and scaring the doves away, but wanted to stay in my warm covers. I couldn't sleep because of the sound, and before long I began wondering about it. It was 11 at night. The doves shouldn't be out this late--maybe a squirrel? Scratch, tap, scratch, tap. Sleep was not coming. I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. In the stillness of the dark, there was a small shadow moving in circles over our bed. I grabbed Jon's arm--death grip style. "Open your eyes!"

He saw it too and we instantly flopped the covers over our heads. We had a quick strategy session, in which I shuddered and made pitiful noises to show my distain for flying rodents, then we slipped out of the covers and onto the floor, crawling for the door. I closed all the upstairs bedroom doors, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, then we turned on the bedroom light. The bat darted out of our room and down the stairs to the living room. Step one, check.

In our strategy pow-wow we had decided that we would use towels to flush him out, directing him out the front door. The brilliant plan had been mine, hailing from my childhood where we often had birds down our chimney and "waved" them out the door using towels.

I have a very impulsive and ingenuitive husband who varied the plan a bit. He came out with a tennis racket, ready to clobber the flying rodent. When that failed, I was annoyed and told him to take his post at the top of the stairs so that the bat couldn't get back upstairs. I stayed at the bottom of the stairs, opposite the open front door, waving my stupid towel. It did absolutely nothing. The bat kept circling.

About this time, Jon disappeared again and came back with the comforter from our bed. If a towel is good, a comforter is better. He waved it a few times, then used all 6'3" of his God-given height to hold it over the entire opening, leaving him on the upstairs side and me all by my lonesome self with the bat.

I may have cursed at him. I hope I didn't. All I really remember doing is screaming wildly and screaming even louder every time the bat came near. Every time I screamed Jon would laugh. Pretty soon, the comforter was shaking with his laughter--the traitor. After a while I laughed too. Laugh, scream, laugh, scream.

The bat finally gave into my masterful plan and sailed out the door. My wonderfully brave and protective husband abandoned his safe zone, came down the stairs and hugged me. I punched his arm, but not too hard.

We still laugh about it.