Battle Stations

A couple of nights ago, my daughter knocked on our bedroom door and, in a voice mixed with excitement and anxiety, told us there was a bat in her room.  My wife and I dutifully arose from our slumber and followed her upstairs to her room which she shares with her two pet cats.  While searching her room for evidence of the intruder, she related the story of the bat's repeated flights across her ceiling then its attempt to find egress down the stairwell, followed by the male cat, while the female cat cowered in a corner.  Since we had just come up the stairwell and did not see the bat, we concentrated our search in the main part of her bedroom, and the closet which was open.  No bat.  We also looked under the bed, in the corners of the room, and gingerly tossed any clothes that were laying upon chairs in our search for the elusive mammal.  Still no luck.

Nora and I retreated back to our room after about 20 minutes of searching, suggesting to Rachel that perhaps she had dreamt the episode, but also encouraging her to alert us if the bat returned.  As we did not hear from her anymore that night, I started to discount her story.

The next day, as luck would have it, we were scheduled for our quarterly pest control visit.  We generally get ants in the house in the spring, and have found that regular treatments keep them at bay, or if it is an especially rainy year as this one has been, occur just about when the ants come a calling.  In this case, we had seen a few in the past week so the timing was perfect, but to be honest, I had forgotten all about the bat sighting. 

After the technician left, I took a shower.  As I exited the shower I glanced up and saw the bat, hanging from the end of the decorative tile which sits about 6 inches from the ceiling.  It seemed calm, perhaps even comfortable in the moisture laden bathroom.  I was not however.  I can't recall ever having seen a bat this close, certainly not wet and naked, but I did manage to get a brief glimpse of the animal by standing on my toes, brief being the important word.  It was about 4 inches long, steely eyes, dark color.

I quickly exited the bathroom, grabbing a towel and a pair of pants as I closed the door behind me and rushed downstairs to find my cell phone.  I called the pest control technician hoping he might answer and/or still be in the area.

"Hey Joe, what is up?"

"Are you still close?"

"Yes, only about a block away."

"I found a bat in my bathroom.  Can you stop by?"

"I don't do bats; they are endangered and cannot be killed".

"Notwithstanding that as a male I am supposed to be manly, can you stop by and help me, or at least give me some advice?"

"Either shoo it out a window or catch it in a bucket and bring it outside".

I said thanks (for nothing, in my mind), and hung up.  I finished drying myself, decided that I was not about to shoo a bat out our bathroom window, and thought about finding a bucket.  I went outside to our barn, and found a white bucket about 10 inches in diameter, perhaps 16 inches deep.  Seemed like a good size.  I also ripped a piece of cardboard from a box which I thought might approximately fit over the bucket, then went back inside and up the stairs.

In the bathroom, the bat still hung peacefully, its teeny little legs clinging steadfastly from the tile top.  I had already called Rachel to tell her that I had found the bat, and to ask her if she wanted to help me, but received an answer not unexpected.  I recalled the advice from Meryl Streep's assistant to his fellow workers in expectation of Meryl's arrival from The Devil Wears Prada, to gird my loins, and, so girded, placed the bucket over the bat while sliding it down the tile.  It fell easily into the bucket and I slapped the cardboard lid over the top, noting with pounding heart that it was just big enough, barely. 

My successful hunt rush was quickly diminished as I realized that the bathroom door was closed and I would have to remove my hand from the cardboard to open the door.  I managed to accomplish this task, but not before realizing again just how close I had estimated the size of the cardboard in relation to the width of the bucket.  Yikes!  Fortunately, as they say, the "they" being people not generally with you at the time, I imagine that the bat was more scared of me than I of it, (poor thing), and it did not attempt escape as I hurriedly re-positioned my hand on the cardboard.

Moving down the stairs at a cautious yet speedy pace, I conquered two more instances where I had to open a door to get outside, then I rather unceremoniously flung the bucket and cardboard lid onto the grass and retreated to the relative safety of the house, my manhood bruised but not broken.

That was just yesterday.  Since then, we have spent more than a few minutes researching bats, how many babies they have (usually one of two) and when (summer), how big they are (this one was an adult), how they might enter a home (through various holes and nooks in the roof and eaves) and whether the adage about roaches (there is never just one roach) was true of bats. 

As of now, we have convinced ourselves that this was a one and done sighting (not rare, but also not common).  I have assured Rachel that, while she may want to check the corners of her room for the next few night, she will most likely not experience a repeat performance.  She did not seem satisfied with this advice, but slept without incident last night.  I also assured both daughter and wife that if there was another incident, we would call the experts, whomever that may be.

As to how the bat moved from the third floor to the 2nd floor bathroom remains a mystery.  Also, since I was not the first person in the bathroom that morning, it seems clear that the bat was not in the place I found it, earlier that day.  We have decided to pretend that it is the same bat, and that its stealth exceeds our ability to detect its motion.  Any other conclusion interferes with our heart rates.

I will keep you informed should anything change.