The kitchen remodel is going well. The electricians and lighting guys were here last week and ran wires for the new fixtures but left wires dangling all over the ceiling. With holes all over the ceiling it didn’t seem that odd to wake up to bits of fluffy white insulation on the floor in spots all over the house. Except for one. One spot in front of the bathroom door at the top of the steps had a snowy pile about the size of a paper plate and the hole above was a clear circular opening into the attic.
I talked myself into believing that it was the wind or a construction guy grabbing the wire like Quasimoto and giving it a good shake every time he walked by. You know, because that’s what construction guys do to annoy their electrician buddies. Right? That self-convincing tactic worked – briefly – until I noticed three tiny little football-shaped turds in the bathroom sink. I showed Bekki.
“OH MY GOD WE HAVE A MOUSE UP HERE!” She said.
I replied, “Bek, it’s not a mouse. I think it’s a bat. Why would a mouse jump from the ceiling, crash to the floor, and then jump up three feet onto the counter with a concussion looking for a drink? Something was flying!”
If you know anything about Bekki you know she’s a researcher. She immediately took pictures of the droppings with her phone and Googled “poop.” “SEEEEE!” She said, “mouse poop is pointy on the ends and bat poop is round. It’s a mouse. He was walking in the attic and couldn’t see the hole because of the insulation and fell through. You know like one of the pit trap things like on Bugs Bunny cartoons.”
I was skeptical but mildly relieved by her scientific rodent poop analysis. I set mouse traps and put them on the sink and in a few places around the second floor. Days went by. No trap activity. But not finding something cute and fuzzy with a long tail snapped in a mouse trap increased my bat anxiety.
Days went by with no evidence of critters on the wing or on foot. We were convinced that whatever fell through the ceiling either died from his injuries or left the house. That is, until midnight last night.
I was in the shower and heard Bekki screaming, “OH MY GOD NO! GET OUT! STAY AWAY FROM ME!” (And other choice combinations of words worthy of a home invasion.) “VINCE!…. VINCE!… BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” And then I heard what sounded like a herd of buffalo run across the bedroom floor and a door slam, followed by muffled swearing.
I quickly dried off and threw on some underwear and sneakers. To an outsider this kind of delay would seem selfish, if not life-endangering. But again, if you know Bekki you know that she always has her phone in hand and records everything. The world doesn’t need to see a Facebook video of my naked ass throwing down with some crazy crackhead home invader… or worse, a critter.
I peeked through the crack in the door. YUP, it was a bat swooping around the bedroom. SHIT! I hate bats. For Superman it was kryptonite. For me it’s bats.
A muffled scream came from the behind the closed closet door, “VINCE, DON’T BE A PUSSY! GET THAT THING!” Her continuous yelling got louder and softer as she peeked out and then slammed the door as Mr. Swoopie zoomed around the bedroom.
I found a broom in the bathroom closet and cautiously snuck into the bedroom.
“WHERE IS HE?” Bekki screamed from inside the closet.
“Hiding,” I replied.
“WHERE?” She asked peeking through a crack in the closet door.
“HOW THE HELL DO I KNOW! THAT’S WHY THEY CALL IT HIDING!” I said, kind of annoyed by the obvious.
I quickly opened up the door to the deck off the bedroom thinking I could chase him outside. (The thought of his bat buddies seeing the fun and joining the party entered my mind while the door was open.)
Bekki yelled, “GET MY PHONE! IT’S ON THE BED.” Odd that she didn’t have her phone but of course suddenly needed it. She probably wanted to Google how to treat rabies with essential oils or maybe call her friends for emotional support after I left her to die while I selfishly put on underwear. But at any rate, she now had her phone to document me flailing around chasing a bat in my underwear and sneakers like a fat Muppet on meth.
Just then the bat zoomed into the bedroom from downstairs. I swung the door shut behind him, trapping us in the bedroom. He flew around the room wing-stalling in corners as he turned (thus the swooping effect). I tried to chase him outside but he had no desire to leave. I thought to myself, “Ok, I’m giving this little bastard three more tries and then I’m taking him out. I’m not doing this until one in the morning.”
His luck ran out and I got him on the first swing of the broom. ANNNNNNND I lost him. Much like being really bad at badminton, when you swing wildly at that little cone shaped puck thing, you never know exactly where it’s going to land.
I knew I hit him but he was brown. Our bedroom floor is brown. The furniture is brown. I thought for sure he was injured and had crawled under the bed or dresser.
Bekki cracked the closet door, “Did you get him? It sounded like you got him. Where is he?”
“I dunno…..”
“What do you mean you don’t know? HE’S STILL CREEPING AROUND?” She said kind of annoyed, as if to say, “Look, the only reason I keep you around is to kill spiders and get rid of this kind of thing…”
I walked over to close the door to outside and saw him dead on the floor. I swept him into a dustpan and tossed his dead bat self into the landscape.
I feel bad about killing bats. They eat a lot of bugs and are beneficial. And I understand that living in a woods comes with “woodland challenges.” But at the end of the day we need to have an understanding. Bats, squirrels, raccoons, snakes, chipmunks, mice, and anything else that is compelled to set up uninvited residency in my house is simply fair game.
I called a construction company this morning that specializes in bat and mouse proofing. Unfortunately the window is very short on this. If he can’t take care of our rodent-proofing now we’ll have to wait until late summer. Why? So we don’t trap all of the flying offspring in our attic because we’re nearing breeding season.
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!