I understand and appreciate that bats hold a unique and necessary place in our ecosystem. I even am aware that some people purchase bat houses to encourage them to take up residence near their homes.
Note the term ‘near’ their home and notice, also that it is distinctly different from ‘in’ their home.
In 1987, I had just moved into a new house with my son (then age 3). In an older neighborhood, my room (upstairs) had slopping ceiling and windows that went from the floor to the ceiling. No built in screens, so I used those little slide-to fit things. Life was good.
One morning, shortly after our move (but long enough that I’d put stuff up on the walls), I got up and went to the bathroom. Although I wear thick glasses as a rule ('cause I’m blind as a, well, you know), I typically didn’t put them on until after I was dressed (cause even I could find the toilet, shower etc w/o much problem).
So, I’m sittin’ there, eyes all blurry kind of looking around my bathroom, say. What’s that brown splotch on the wall? So, I head on over (I can almost hear y’all saying “no, go back!!! don’t go near it!!!”) Did I mention that my eyesight isn’t very good? That will explain why it wasn’t until my nose was about 5 inches away from the brown splotch on the wall before I noticed that it was a bat.
I hurriedly called a friend of mine who’d had experiences with them (I remember having laughed at her stories). She told me to get a broom and ‘just hit it, it’ll be stunned and you can sweep it into a container and toss it outside’.
Perhaps I should have checked which kind of bat was hanging in the bathroom, 'cause clearly as later events showed, it wasn’t the ‘easystun’ variety. It was Arnold Schwartzenbat. I’m swinging at it, it’s swooping around, I’m making noises that, well, usually are good noises if ya catch my drift, but are just a tad, um higher? swoop/whimper/swoop/whimper.
Into this mix I hear my son knocking at the bathroom door. “What’s the matter mommy?” “ummmm[sub][sup]whimper whimper[/sub][/sup] nothing honey, I’m just [sub][sup]whimper whimper[/sub][/sup] trying to catch umm [sub][sup]whimper whimper[/sub][/sup] a really big bug [sub][sup]whimper whimper[/sub][/sup]”
“I gotta go potty mommy”. Well, mother love being what it is, I manage finally to knock Schwartzenbat to the floor and cover it with a pail (Ben had left in the tub), slid a piece of cardboard under it, and slid the whole shebang over to the window, where I shoved it out with a flourish.
I determined that the most likely entry point was the windows with screens, and subsequently stuffed towels in the gaps between the two panes.
Apparently, tho’, Schwartzenbat had friends. Over the years I developed a position on bats. That position is: prone, face down on the floor, preferably with a blanket over my head, whimpering. I do it rather well, according to the critics. I’d have my son call my SO “hey, Enzo, there’s a bat flying around, would you come get rid of it for us?”. So, he’d come over, see my son sitting on the couch, “where’s your mom?” Ben would point over to the floor. “Oh”. Four or five more times real life flying creatures in the house.
Now, I’ve dealt with rodents, possums, raccoons etc. They all have the good sense to hie themselves away from humans. I **like ** that in a wild creature. These damn things keep on swooping around.
Enzo, of course, has never played on my fear of bats. Nope. Well, except for hanging the paper honeycombed bat in my kitchen. And putting the inflatable bat on my pillow on the bed. And, the time he put about 50 little rubbery bats under the visor on the passenger side of his truck then asked me to lower the visor**.
So, I finally moved out to the country. Where the bats know enough to stay outdoors where I can pretend they don’t exist. And I thought I was done.
One night around 2 am, the phone rang. It was the alarm company, letting me know that the motion detector went off at work. So, I get dressed, drive the 20 miles into town, meet up with the cop who has determined that there’s been no entry into the buidling. So, we shrug it off, I go home.
One year later. Same thing, call about the motion detector. I come to town, cop says "well, I saw a bat flying around in there. So here we are again. When daylight arrived, my employee got to locate and deal with said flying furry thing.
So. In summation: When I’m being battered by life, battling the forces of evil, I’d batter not catch anyone unbattering my hatches to let in any nocturnal flying mammals of the corder Chiorptera, with or w/o the membanous wings. I’ll hit you with my baton, I will.
**Yes, I have gotten back at him for this. Lots of times
