OK, so this was funnier when it happened, but I said I’d tell you about it so here goes.
Our house (the one BH built and that I just moved to) is out in the country. That’s one of the reasons I like it. But if you live in the country, you have to deal with critters.
I am not fond of critters. In fact, I am a big scaredy-pants weenie.
So a week after I moved in, we had a Critter Incident. Here’s the scene: BH, me, and a couple of the kids (J and C) are hanging out in the living room, watching a movie. 9:30 pm. Stef calls my cell and I go into BH’s office to take the call. Then J shrieks, in a very musical way. A bat had swooped down to watch the movie, too. We’d had doors and windows open while we moved all my junk in, and he took advantage of the situation. (I bet he doesn’t have cable where he lives.)
So J continues to shriek. She shrinks herself into a tiny ball and hides under the couch cushions. C yells, but he is 13, and 13-year-olds are adventurous and bloodthirsty. He wants to be in on the hunt. BH dashes to the basement and comes up holding an ancient (at least 50 years old) tennis racket. He finally yells, “Honey, where are you?”
I was under the desk. Desks provide excellent shelter in bat emergencies. I was also still on the phone with Stef, who was amused by all the shrieking and shouting she could hear.
The bat lured the boys upstairs. C suggested that he try and shoot in with his bow and arrow. We all voted no.
Stef and I finished our conversation. I emerged from under the desk, terrified, but wicked curious. I saw the bat swoop by. I swear its wingspan was five and a half feet. The rest of the family claims it was closer to five and a half inches, but what do they know?
There was much thumping, shouting, and leaping upstairs, where the boys were trying to subdue the bat. Much shrieking and yelling, too.
At this point the bat was thinking, “All this trouble just to watch cable. I should sign up for Dish Network and be done with it. Maybe I’ll get that Tivo thing, too.”
At this point I was wearing a large wicker basket on my head. Wicker baskets are incredibly useful things. I think I shall write a poem that sings the praises of good-sized baskets. The handle looped down under my chin. It was cute.
The bat was subdued by a lovely forehand shot of the tennis racket (it almost landed on C’s head) and dispatched out of doors. Just to be sure, I kept the basket on my head for the rest of the movie. The family ignored me, but I could tell they all secretly wanted their own Anti-Bat Protection Baskets.
We haven’t had any other critters visit, but just in case I have positioned baskets at strategic intersections throughout the house. I suggested that we make tennis rackets an important part of our interior design plan and hang one in every room. The family voted me down.
That is my bat story.