I don?t like bats.
Before you start a letter-writing campaign informing me of my ignorance about the value of bats, don?t waste your time.
I don?t like them.
I?m not as afraid of bats as I am of big, old ugly snakes, but nonetheless, I don?t like them.
Perhaps it was the old movies I watched as a child that showed huge bomber squadrons of bats poised in wait for the unsuspecting hero that fuels my distaste for them.
Saturday was a normal day around the Paul hacienda. Mowed the front ditch of our place and the neighbors, mowed our lawn, washed both rigs and, in general, spruced up the place after a week of neglect.
Looked pretty good by Saturday afternoon, so it was off to a movie and supper with friends that evening.
We returned home in time to watch some of the Olympics and headed for bed. Debbie stayed up to watch the news.
Little did we know that our evening was soon to change in just minutes.
?Alex…Alex…there?s a bat in the house,? Deb shrieked as she grabbed my foot and awakened me from the near-sleep zone.
?Grumble, grumble, grumble…? I responded, at first covering my head with the sheet and then lumbering from bed on a search and destroy mission…albeit in my underwear. This is not a pretty sight even under non-trying circumstances and is especially gruesome during an attack mode drill.
After all, chasing bats isn?t part of our normal routine. It?s not something for which we have practices.
In nearly 30 years together, we?ve only had to chase a bat one other time and that was in the first few months of our marriage, when we lived in Ottumwa, Iowa for a summer.
Back then, I had a trusty tennis racket and empty coffee can in my arsenal and quickly dispatched our intruder to bat heaven.
Not so today, as I?ve grown into a kinder, gentler hunter. So, I grabbed the first available bat tool…an old green Tupperware bowl. Not very pretty but at least it was something to have in hand.
It?s effectiveness was pitiful. Gathered far too much air resistance thus slowing down my cat-like quickness and agility, or maybe it was simply because I am old and slow. The bat kept flying around me in circles, rapidly too. First to the left and then to throw me off, he?d dive bomb me from the right.
So, the fight intensified as I escalated the fight to the next level, with a broom. Even more worthless than the bowl and nearly deadly…to our two hanging fans in the living room and dining room areas.
Deb had retreated to the safety of our bedroom by now and kept yelling, ?Did you get it yet? Did you get it yet?? I couldn?t bear to tell her that her hero was failing–but was putting up a valiant effort.
And just when I was about to turn to the double-barreled 12-gauge as a last resort, the electricity went out.
It could have been the makings of a pitiful science fiction movie.
Dead as a doornail we were. With an evil attacker (aided with night vision radar no less) just waiting to pounce.
Surely, I thought this won?t last long. It?s just because we haven?t had rain in two months and we?re now in the midst of a downpour.
Alas, I was wrong.
So, I opened the sliding glass door off our dining room, crawled up on the couch and waited for my attacker to surrender by fleeing.
It worked.
When the power came back on Sunday morning at 6 a.m., the bat was gone, having good enough sense to not tangle with the deadly hunter again.
The next night, we didn?t open our bedroom window, but we kept the green plastic bowl close at hand.
Maybe we should invest in a used tennis racket, just in case.
A.P.