Friday, May 27, 2011
(Warning: The account you are about to read may contain details unsuitable for some readers and mental images about me that will shock and appal you. Please do not report me to the National Association of Advocates for the Protection of Bats. If you love bats, you do not want to read any further. I am sorry; you just don't. The story you are about to read is true...)
Last night was awful.
It started about 12:30 AM when Laurie detected something rustling about in our bedroom. In my usual fashion, I tried to dismiss the noise as something reasonable--the ceiling fan, one of the kids on the monitors, or aliens landing outside. My own ears seized upon the same noise and the adrenaline began to flow. I knew that something was in the room and that it was going to require me to....get out of bed!
We moved to Woodbury Heights in September 2008. We instantly fell in love with the town, our neighbors, and our quaint, little home. However, we soon learned that we had moved into the one house in our town that has a warp zone-like connection to Disney's Animal Kingdom. I've continually been defeated by the most determined squirrels ever made by God. I regularly have to pick trash up out of the yard. I've tried new trash cans; these varmints just eat right through the lids. I'm also pretty sure that about 200 fluffy bunnies live on our property.
Sometime in that first year I clubbed my first home invader. Laurie called me home from an important meeting screaming that a bat was in the house. I thought she was crazy until the beady-eyed little pest came swooping at me. I did what any normal person would do--I bludgeoned the poor creature with a tennis rack and stomped on it with my shoe, all the while I trash-talked the little sucker in a way that would make today's NBA players blush.
Sometime later, Laurie "claimed" that she saw another bat. This time downstairs when she was putting a load of clothes in the washer. It was a convenient little ploy given that I can count on one hand the number of times that Laurie has done laundry in our marriage. (I love you, babe, but you know it's true.) I never found that bat, even though I went down multiple times a day with two tennis racks and a "Handy Manny" hardhat on...
And, then there was last night. After hearing the noise nearby, I rolled over just in time to see the silhouette of the flying creature zoom past our heads. Reluctantly, but swiftly, I sprang from the bed. I pulled the light string and the deadly dance was on. I grabbed the closest object that--in that split second--my mind identified would give me a fighting chance of successfully terminating the intruder. The object: one of Laurie's bras. The bat circled the room about seven times. Each time I would flail my satin sword in an attempt to simply stun the beast out of the air and onto the ground where the playing field was more even. Finally, on about the eighth pass, I struck the bat and it bounced off the closet door and landed nearby.
I then quickly identified my next weapon. Resourcefulness in crisis has never been a strong suit of mine. I grabbed the box of baby wipes just to my left and lunged at the fallen creature. A relentless series of fresh-scented blows rained upon the helpless bat. Like Mel Gibson in The Patriot, it took me a moment to realize that the fatal blow had been cast.
I would love to be able to tell you that we quickly and confidently drifted off to sleep after I bagged up the bat carcass in a WalMart plastic bag and launched it out the back door. Unfortunately, the truth is that about an hour later we heard another noise in the room. This time it was the familiar sound of some creature pawing from inside the walls. At about 3 AM, we must have drifted off to sleep.
Please Lord, make the scary animals go away!