Going Batty

I am downstairs, in the white and black kitchen making coffee. This pot has wire filter and the grounds bought at the grocery stay. I have measured out the grounds and gave started filling the glass pot with water. I look out the window into the cool fall day. Over the water I think I hear something.

I turn off the water and listen. It is Shelly. She is upstairs, calling my name and she s not happy. I consider what I have done recently and decide, she is probably not upset with me, so I leave the kitchen and make my way upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, my wife is pointing toward the guest bedroom with a mix of revulsion and fear. "There is a bat in there," he says simply, thought when she says the word bat she spits I out like rotten milk. Spiders and large insects we may argue about who is going to crush them, but bats are clearly in he husband department.

I look in the room and at first I don't see what she sees. I step closer and there it is, a small ball of grey fur lining to the yellowed Venetian blinds. It doesn't look worth the revulsion my wife has. I am not going to kill it. I wouldn't go so far as to say it is cute, but it is small and I am remembering a show talking about how many pests they will eat in a night.

I make it to the doorway. Look to see if the critter has brought any friends. I see a small bookshelf, a bed with a floral patten comforter, a small fan on the floor, but no other bats. I close the door and begin my search for something to capture.

I have a tennis racket, which old be perfect if I wanted to turn him to a splash of gore. Same goes for the baseball bat in the bed room. I need a container. I consider a garbage bag, but they are really hard to make a seal with. I have the same problem with any bag. In the kitchen I consider what dishes I would be willing to throw away, knowing full well that no amount of boiling will make make it clean enough for Shelly once it has played host to a flying rat, as he calls them. I briefly think I might not have to tell her, but the circumstances in which that could get me killed seem many. I finally settle on a small cardboard box.

I stand or a while in the hallway looking at the closed door. The box hangs limply by my side. Shelly is somewhere pretending she lives in a house which I bat free. I examine the box, I pull the flaps out of the box. I consider for a moment and the position the flaps so I can quickly close the box.

I go into the room and close the door behind me. My heart has picked up it's pace. The bat is right where I left it. I am halfway across the room when the creature goes on the attack. Ok, it wasn't an attack, but it is flying in a great circle around the room, diving my head, near and he far. The flapping. I can still hear the flapping. For a moment I consider going for the door, the baseball bat, but I can't free him into the house.

So, as the beating of my own heart drowns out he sound of leathery, fluttering wings, I begin to chase he bat with the box. Essentially, I end up in the middle of the room making a great circle with my arm going up and down to the trajectory of he bat. I find, I can follow him with my eye, but in makes me quite dizzy.

Then it happens. He lands, or tries to land on the wall and I am right behind him. I cover him with he box and begin to recover myself. When my head stops swimming. I decide on the exact motions I need to make. Shake the box, flip two of he flaps. One. Two. Three. I can feel him flapping and beating the inside of the closed box, but it works.

I take the box to the deck in back. By the time I get out there the flapping has stopped. I set it on the rail and nothing happens. In my mind h would fly away, but he doesn't. I consider poking him, but I don't, I leave the box open on the deck. The next orang when I check, the bat is gone.