BAT!

My Jedi Knight had just rescued the planet Corellia from certain doom, so I figured that was a good time to take a bathroom break.

When I came back to my computer and checked my phone, there was a missed call AND a text from my sister. That was weird. It was 10:30 PM, and as a fellow introvert, Julie was usually pretty careful not to encroach on my recharge time. My brother-in-law, on the other hand, is an extrovert who caused me to implement a ‘no sending Laura memes after 11 PM’ rule, and who has threatened to show up on my lawn unannounced on a Saturday morning with brunch and mimosas. (In fairness, now that Marty learned the nuances of dealing with introverts, he is very respectful of introvert recharge time.) They live down the street, which is ideal. It’s close enough that we see each other a bunch, but far enough that if any of us were struck with the notion of, say, showing up on someone’s lawn with mimosas, we would at least have to overcome the hurdle of putting on real pants.

Anyway, I checked Julie’s text. I knew they had been traveling for a couple days and had just gotten home from the airport a little while ago, so I figured Julie would be on introvert recharge time as well. If she was calling me, it had to be important.

So, we were sitting here eating our Portillo’s and the puppy is sitting by the table sniffing something and I look to see what it is and IT’S A FREAKING BAT!

I called my sister.

“Are you okay?”

“NO! THERE’S A FREAKING BAT IN MY HOUSE!”

I took a moment to absorb this information. “Okay. Where’s the bat? Is it flying? Are you trying to catch it?”

“It’s in the dining room. Marty’s working on it.”

In the background, I could hear a ruckus, and Marty shouting somewhat desperately from across the room (or perhaps the house) in the general direction of the phone: “Laura, honestly? Respectfully? Could you put on real pants and come and help me deal with this?”

“I’ll be right there,” I said, hanging up.

Marty was asking me to put on real pants during introvert recharge time?

This was clearly serious.

So I changed into something more respectable than pajamas, and went over there to help them deal with it.

I let myself in, in case they were bat-wrangling, and cautiously called out. “Marty?”

Marty traipsed into the living room, exhausted. I’ve never seen him look this traumatized.

“Where’s the bat?” I asked.

“I’ve got it pinned down,” he replied.

“That’s great!” I said. “Catching it is the hardest part.” Then I processed what he said. “Wait, ‘pinned down’? How?”

“It’s under a plastic tub with a handle of bourbon weighing it down,” Marty replied.

“Well,” I said. “That’s…certainly resourceful.”

He led me to a corner of their dining room near the china cabinet and the bar cart (which explained why the bourbon bottle was the nearest heavy thing) and pointed to a small plastic washbasin, overturned on the floor, with a large bottle sitting on top of it.

All was silent. If there was a bat under there, it gave no indication.

“How’d it get on the floor?” I asked.

Marty shrugged. “It was just chilling there. The puppy was sniffing it. Do you think she brought it in from the yard?”

“I think you would notice her carrying a bat,” I said, surveying the plastic tub and strategizing. “I need–“

Marty was already handing me a flattened out cardboard soda case.

I took a deep breath and started sliding it under the plastic tub. At first there was no indication that anything was under there, and I worried the bat has escaped. But then–

“It’s hissing,” I said. “Marty, it’s hissing.”

“I know!”

The bat was very angry with me. I was meeting with some resistance as I tried to slide the cardboard all the way under the plastic tub. I lifted it slightly to make sure it got through. As soon as I stopped moving the cardboard, the bat was silent.

Okay.

Now I just have to…pick it up.

I carefully wrapped my fingers around the cardboard on one side of the tub.

Then I carefully wrapped my fingers around ack that’s not cardboard.

I screamed.

After taking a breath to compose myself, I looked down. The lighting was bad, so I hadn’t seen that the bat’s wing was stuck between the cardboard and the plastic, and sticking out ever-so-slightly.

That’s a new problem. How was I going to get the whole bat back in the tub?

“I’m sorry I screamed,” I said in as composed a voice as I could manage. “I touched bat wing. Marty, would you get me a pencil?”

Marty rummaged through the contents of the dining room table and the bar cart. “Here’s a candle lighter.”

I wanted the bat wing inside the tub, not on fire. “I don’t think that will work.”

Marty offered me a few other stick-like objects that wouldn’t quite work before locating an actual pencil, and then I steeled myself and lifted the plastic tub slightly.

“Come on, Mr. Bat,” I said in my gentlest, most placating voice. “Let’s get your arm back inside the tub.” I tried to gently nudge the bat wing back inside, but the bat saw freedom and was clinging to that chance for dear life. It hooked its little claw around the edge of the plastic and hissed in protest when I tried to remove it. After about thirty seconds of fending off the bat’s claw with the tip of the pencil, I managed to get it completely under the tub.

Once again, I carefully wrapped my fingers around one side, and then the other, and did not feel anything furry and bony this time.

“Okay,” I said, standing up precariously. “Let’s go.”

Marty led the way to the back door, and I followed carefully. On the way, I passed my sister, holding onto the dog in a room far away from the bat. I used my best marching band glide step to follow Marty out to the yard.

We both stood there, uncertain. “What do I do now?”

“Chuck the whole thing into the grass,” Marty instructed me.

I shrugged and did my best shot-put. the cardboard and the tub went flying off into the yard, and we watched the bat land lightly in the grass, slightly stunned.

Marty and I watched for several seconds. The bat was fidgeting a little bit, getting its bearings, but it didn’t seem inclined to actually move away from us yet.

“Why isn’t it flying?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Marty said.

We watched for a few more seconds. The bat was definitely alive, but very stationary.

Marty frowned in concern. “If it stays in the yard until morning, the puppy is definitely gonna find it.”

Once again, I braced myself to do something I really didn’t want to do. “Okay. Then we move it to the alley.” I picked up the discarded cardboard and the puppy’s favorite stick and walked toward the bat.

The bat perked up on being offered a stick. It knew what to do with those. My plan had been to use the stick to nudge the bat back onto the cardboard, but I wound up using the cardboard to help the bat onto the stick. The bat still seemed uninterested in flying.

Holding the bat at arm’s length, I followed Marty out to the alley and placed the bat on the ground in front of the trash can.

For the next two hours, we all sat in the living room drinking comforting beverages and googling the answers to a series of very unsettling questions, like how the bat got in in the first place (we’re pretty sure it followed a moth in while they were unloading the car), what kind of bat it was (looked like a little brown bat), how rabies works (none of us were even close to being bitten, so it’s fine), why it wasn’t flying (bats actually can’t take off from the ground once they’re down there) and whether it would be okay (yes, it would likely climb the fence and be airborne again).

The upshot of all this is that I get to add to my epitaph. Now I’m Laura, slayer of crocodiles AND remover of bats.