Thursday, March 6, 2008
So a couple of weeks ago when we had the "warm snap", around 5am I woke due to a skittering noise. Mouse thinks I. But it sounds just a little different. The S.O heard it too, so we turn on the light. Over on the other side of the bedroom is something on the floor. Kinda hoppy. Not so mousy. But the S.O insists it is. My ass, I think, it's a freaking bat. Now don't get me wrong. I like bats. Bats are important. I like them outside. Where they belong. So, I get up to move around the bed, and it's gone. So I go downstairs, get the stove stirred up and The Minion comes downstairs. I told him what we saw in the bedroom - just so he'd be prepared. He heads into the kitchen and comes trotting back over, flies onto the couch and asks "What's that on the floor over there?!?!". Well, animal control at 6am is not part of my morning plan. Coffee, cigarette, shower. That's the plan. Not this. So over in the heap-o-shit that is the recycling pile, on the floor, crawling into the recycling is Mr. Bat. So I grab the broom and a gallon sized pickle jar ( empty from the pile ) and trap the poor little bugger . Meanwhile The Minion has high-tailed it back upstairs. The S.O is snoring away. And I am afraid to lift up the broom to try and sweep him into the jar. I have not had coffee. I have not had nicotine. I am alone with Mr. Bat, who I probably brought into the house tucked under the bark of a chunk for the stove. Deciding I can't stand there forever and hoping he is stunned, I sweep him into the jar and stick him outside hoping the 20 degree temp will slow him down. It does and I take his fuzzy little ass for a walk up into the field and leave him in a shed. So then the next week this article appears in the weekly paper. I hope our bats aren't sick too. I like the lack of mosquitoes in the summer.