In February of 2002, my beautiful new bride and I purchased a fairly old house near Trenton, New Jersey, one that the realtor described as “having character” when he meant it had “more cracks and flaws than an AMERICAN IDOL semifinalist.” Still, I have some experience in contracting and remodeling, and we got a heck of a deal on the place, so we bought it anyway.
In August of that year, we were awakened in the middle of the night by a strange sound, which turned out to be our cats positively squealing with glee. After some investigation, we realized that the reason they were so happy was that there was a big, ugly, brown bat swooping around downstairs. After some reasoned discussion (Me: “AAAAAAAAUUUGGGGGGGHHHH”; She: “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAKKKKK!”), we decided to call Animal Control. After a bit of wrangling, our uninvited guest was removed from the house. We had a good laugh about the whole thing, and went about our lives.
Last spring, while raiding the refrigerator late one night, I heard a sound coming from behind the fridge that sounded like a cricket on steroids. Sure enough: another bat. This time, we actually sealed off the kitchen, duct-taping a dropcloth over the entrance (hey, it was late, we didn’t know what else to do). Our house bats, however, have mysterious powers, because by dawn it was swooping around our bedroom. We cornered it, called Animal Control, and it departed, as well. Three nights later, another bat. This time, I found it sitting - gak - on my towel in the bathroom. I tossed another towel on top of it, and just carried the thing outside and set it free. Finally, a week later, still ANOTHER of these winged threats to life and limb spent about fifteen minutes careening around my house before finally finding an open door and flying free.
Well, we went on a spree. We caulked every crack we could find. We used duct tape to seal the fireplace. We stuffed towels under the attic door to make sure nothing could get underneath. We called a pest control service, who fogged our attic - nothing came out - and sealed up external openings into the house. And for nigh on a year, the bats came no more.
Then, last night, we heard a familiar chirping coming from inside the upright halogen lamp in our bedroom. After discussing our options (Me: “UgUgUgUgUgUg”; She: “Ohmygoddon’tleavemealoneintheroomwithit”), we eventually got this one outside, too.
But the whole thing has me at my wit’s end. I am kind of horrified by these things - they’re ungainly and ugly, and the one time I tried to catch one it hissed like a cat and pretty much came after me (I threw a blanket at it and it flew away). But my wife is developing a pathological fear of them; she didn’t sleep at all last night, jumping out of bed every time she heard a sound in the house. She is seven months pregnant right now, and she’s really upset about the idea of bringing a baby into the Storyteller Home for Wayward Bats.
So I turn to you, the Straight Dope community. What can I do? I have absolutely no idea how these things are getting in - unless I’m missing something, I’ve sealed just about every opening in the house at this point. Any advice? Or anyone interested in buying an animal-friendly five bedroom Colonial in Hamilton, NJ?