Monday, 9:45PM: Sherri drops me off from an evening of important errands. TJMaxx, Ross, BedBathBeyond, etc. Got a cute apron (so domestic of me), a paper towel holder (really? I made it 36 years w/o a paper towel holder?), and this little metal thing that you wash your hands with that takes the garlic/fish/onion smells off your hands. (Pure genius!) But that’s another post. Or another blog. Maybe I need a shopping blog… But back to the story…
Monday, 10:00PM: Frantic call from Sherri.
“Daron, there is a BAT in my DINING ROOM, and you need to get over here NOWWW…” I asked her if she sang “Born Free” to it, but she didn’t think that was very funny. At all.
Monday, 10:15PM: Daron and I walk into Sherri’s living room with fishing net in hand. She’s perched on the couch, like the bat is going to nibble her toes or something, and has complete line-of-sight with the perpetrating bat in the dining room. She’s holding her defensive weapon of choice (broom),and is ready for combat. But only if assaulted.
“Daron, it only takes SEVEN minutes to get here on 540, and it took you TWELVE!! Where were you!!???” Daron shakes head. It takes inner strength to be brow-beaten by TWO bossy women in your life.
Daron and I head into the dining room, were we find the most adorable little brown bat all snuggled in for the night in Sherri’s curtains. I’m ready to take his close-up, when Daron informs me that he’s “had shots for this” and I hadn’t. Good point. I back off to a respectable distance, and begin to document the removal. Which took all of 3 minutes. A less competent Wildlife Biologist might have taken at least seven, but this man is an expert at his craft!
I always thought bats were squeakers, but this one was ANGRY. He sounded like hissing cat. I get crabby when people wake me up, and this bat was no exception. Daron expertly gets him out the front door, partially in a shoebox, where he intends to set him free to the night air. He’s intent on going, so I only had a split second to take his picture before he took flight.
The night wouldn’t have been complete without an exhaustive, but reassuring search through the attic, which thankfully and predictably produced nothing. Poor Sherri. She still didn’t sleep a wink that night…