So, it’s my second night in my new house. It’s 3a.m. I’m sound asleep. And then I hear this fluttering near my head. A moth? A really big moth? Then it zooms past my head 3 times and leaves the room. A bat.
A bat! Mommy! My lovable yet useless dog is cowering in the bed with me. I leap up and close the bedroom door. At least we’re safe. Sort of. But now the bat has the run of the rest of the house. Great. How did it get in? Better yet, how the hell do I get it out?
Times like these, I wish I had a man in my life. But then, I’ve yet to have a man in my life who was even willing to kill a spider for me, so there’s that. But moral support would be good. Someone to bear witness to the battle ahead, at the very least.
I boot up my computer. No one is awake on Facebook. I start Googling “bat in my house” and get all these horror stories about rabies. But cooler scientific heads will tell you that you have a much better chance of being struck by lightning than being bitten by a rabid bat.
I actually like bats. Ironically, just the day before I ordered a bat house for my back yard. Bats keep bugs under control, and are also pollinators. We need them. I just don’t want to have one as a roommate.
Nearly two hours have gone by. I finally see a friend get on line. He’s unwilling to hop on the next plane, but he talks me down from the ceiling. He gives me a pep talk. He makes me laugh. Now I’m ready to deal with the bat. That, and I really, really, really have to pee by this point.
I wrap myself in a blanket. I don’t know why. For comfort? And I grab a second blanket in hopes of catching the bat. I crack the door open and peek out. Nothing. I make a run for the bathroom. Sweet relief. Then I start looking around the rest of the house. But the sun is starting to rise, so the bat has probably gone God knows where.
And sure enough, it’s hiding. Lurking, like some evil Trumpian immigrant, not to be trusted. My house is still in chaos, full of moving boxes. Plenty of hidey holes. I’m hoping he left the way he came. (I suspect it was via the chimney.)
By now the sun is fully up, and my house feels like my own again. But I blocked off the chimney. Believe that. Now one more unpleasant task lies ahead. I peek in the attic.
Yup. Sure enough. There’s a colony in there. I can hear them chittering. (One wonders how the inspector missed that, but oh well.)
So I call a bat removal company. And they tell me that bats are protected, and this is their breeding season, so they can’t remove them until late August when the babies are big enough to fly. Oh great. The joys of home ownership.
So they’re up there, shitting in my attic, putting me at risk for histoplasmosis for the next two months. And I had work to do up there. I guess I have a valid excuse for procrastinating now.
I’m relieved to say that since that night I haven’t seen any more bats in the part of my house that I insist upon occupying. I watch them fly out of a crack in my chimney every evening at dusk. They’re beautiful to behold. I just wish they’d go somewhere else.
Oh, what a night. And did I mention that this was my one day to sleep in? Sigh.
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