Around midnight, a dark creature swooped into my living room, and I mistook it for a bird. When a rodent’s face fluttered up against mine, I whooped, the coffee table was upended, and papers went flying. The bat and I somersaulted like crazy to get out of each other’s way, both of us shrieking, “Eeeek! Eeeek!!”
My patio door should have shown a broken glass outline of me in flight. Outside, I watched the bat’s frenzied circling inside, and even though my husband was six states away on business, it didn’t stop me from screaming, “Help! David! Heeeelp!”
I charged back in, only to be swooped from above. Was it trying to nest in my hair? I stumbled back out, screeching and whapping at my head. (Amazing I didn’t knock myself out) It was time to call in the cavalry.
“Mojo, get it! Go! Chase it out!” Looking doubtful, my mild-mannered mutt backed away from the door.
OK, bat, this is MY cave. I ran back in, and grabbed a bathmat, and went to war. It swooped. I swatted. It squeaked, I screamed. On my third hit, she-bang! It fell to earth and I threw the terrycloth bathmat over where it lay.
I’m not sure why this made sense, but from Boston I called my sister in California. Into her answering machine, I blubbered, “Pick up! Pick up! This is an emergency!”
Hysterically gulping, I repeated, “I hit a bat with a bath mat!” (Try saying that three times really fast).
Christine came on the line and said, “What? You fell in the shower?”
I yelled back even louder, “No, no, a bat! I had to hit a bat with a bath mat.”
She said, “Calm down. I can’t understand you. All I’m hearing is Ba! Ba! Ba!”
After another round of hollering, she whispered, “Ooh, where is it now?”
“On my floor,” I wailed, “under a towel!”
She said, “Call the police!”
Through my tears, I huffed, “Hey, don’t melodramatic.”
Christine talked me through picking up the covered body and tossing the whole bat enchilada outdoors. Spooky resurrection – the bat rose in the darkness and disappeared. So, so scary.
My pulse was normalizing, that is, until my sister congratulated me on being brave. “You’re so good because I’d be thinking about vampires. It’s kind of creepy. You’re all alone, late at night. A bat comes in out of nowhere. There’s probably a colony in the attic. The next thing you know, the undead are clawing at your bedroom door. Are you sure you’re OK?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said weakly.
The next morning armed with a broom and dragging Mojo along on a leash, I entered the attic, expecting to evict any upside down squatters sleeping after a night of blood feasting. A safari hat covered my hair and sunglasses protected my eyes.
Mercifully, there was nothing. The attic was clean as a sonar whistle.
I still don’t’ know how that bat got into my belfry. My hysteria rose again when David called and I was superheated to tell him my tale. All I heard back was, “Slow down! All I’m getting is Ba! Ba! Ba!”
Email Suzette Martinez Standring: email@example.com