Friday, July 28, 2006

I am starting to hate bats.

I feel like crying.

Not because of my date last night, which was pretty fucking stellar. We did not go for a walk by the river.

Twenty minutes after she left, however, there was a decided turn for the worse with another bat incident. Again, just after I’d taken my glasses off in another room. At least I had clothes on this time.

I managed to scuttle around for a bit, crawling commando style up and down the hallway, turning lights on here, opening doors to the outside, turning lights off there. At one point I grabbed the phone, crouched in the doorway to the living room, and called the city.

Me: I have a bat in my house.
Louise: Did it bite anyone?
M (stupidly): No.
L: I’m sorry, we can’t help you. Our mandate is only for bites. You’ll have to capture it and let it go outside.
M: And if it bites me while I’m doing that?
L: You should call back.

It flew out after not very long, and I thought, “Phew. That’s that for tonight. But I’d better bring Freya’s litter upstairs and close the basement door, just in case.” While I was down there, another bat swooped out of a corner and flapped all around the basement. I ran upstairs, litter box in hand, and slammed the door.

I get to bed and it’s around midnight. A little late, but I’m wired, so I read a bit, then turn off the light. I’ve just managed to relax some when I hear a thump on the basement door. Fuck, I think, there’s an inch gap at the bottom of that door. So up I get, turn on the lights, find an old sheet, shove it in the crack.

Get back to bed. Thump. Thump thump. Squeak squeak. And Freya’s gone uncanny, pulling at the sheet to get at the bat and yowling. Quiet for a bit. Thump thump thump.

It was 3.30 before I fell asleep deeply enough not to hear the next thump. Poor bat.

Today, I’ve discovered that Todd from Nature Care is “100% positive that the bats are in the attic, and taking a left turn when they should be taking a right.” And thus ending up in my basement instead of the glorious dusky outdoors. Though how he knows my basement is to the left of the attic, I’m not sure. No matter, there’s nothing I can do about the bats except wait for the young to grow old enough to leave the roost. Another two weeks, according to Todd.

I’m already jumping every time I hear a squeak anywhere, or a pigeon takes wing from the building across the street. I’ll be raving mad in two weeks.

Might be easier to handle the bats that way. At any rate, tonight I’m buying a pair of heavy work gloves, and I’m duct taping sheets over various doorways to keep the bats contained in the hallway. That way I can find them easier in the morning.

Cause you know there’s nothing I look forward to more than opening my bedroom door in the morning and playing a little find-the-flying-mammal. Sets a day up right.

After things calm down, it will cost anywhere from a few hundred to thousands of dollars to get rid of the bats, depending on how many quarter-sized holes need blocking up in the attic. My landlord is going to fucking love that.

Fuck this no sugar bullshit. I’m going to get a cooky.

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