Bats are your friend. The whole thing about them being more scared of us than we are of them is generally true, and they eat bugs, helping balance the ecosystem and clear away annoying pests. Well, except for the fruit bat. They eat fruit, not pests, so I guess they're more like acquaintances than friends. And vampire bats; those blood-sucking fiends are more like the evil cousins you hope don't come to the family reunion. They live way down south, though. So, yeah, exactly like the evil cousins you hope don't come to the family reunion. Anyhow, for the most part, bats are our friends, and, contrary to the movies, they do not want to get tangled up in your hair, nor do they turn into Bella Lugosi.
Anyhow it's about 1:00Am, and I hear this "skritch skritch, thwap, scritch." I assume that it's just the trees outside my window scrapping together, or something else that can be safely ignored, but my more primal brain, the part that is concerned with self-defense and nachos, elbowed me and said "that was coming from inside the house, bro... behind your door. You need to go check it out." I think I'm right, so I roll out of bed, flick on the light, and swing the door, so I can see what's scritching and thwaping about my house.
Now I am, ironically enough, blind as a bat without my contacts in, so all I can see is a little brown lump of animal, part of which was bulging in and out, as a toad's throat often does. This kind of confuses me, so as I lean down to get a better look, I'm thinking to myself "huh, that's weird, I wonder how a toad got all the way up OH MY GOD IT'S GOT WINGS AND IT'S FLYING RIGHT AT MY FACE!"
Now, few of you have seen how I react to sudden movement or loud noise. For those of you who haven't, if I get startled, I will at least jump. If I'm on edge, I'll actually come up into something that looks like a cross between a boxer's and wrestler's stance. On a couple of occasions, when I was particularly wired, I've actually had a punch on the way before I figured out what was happening and stopped myself. Now, for the most part, these reactions are completely useless, excepts as entertainment at parties. Every once and a while, though, a little brown ball of furry death will launch itself at my face, and I'm glad for the reflexes. Anyhow, I ninja rolled out of the way (yay Judo!) and came up in the corner, peripherally aware that there was a flying rodent doing laps around my bedroom.
Now, a part of me, the part of me that had to be up for work in a few hours, just wanted to turn off the light, shut the door, sleep on the couch, and deal with the thing in the morning. The more reasonable part of me, however, didn't want Bruce (I like to anthropomorphize) associating my bed with a place of safety and comfort, so I figured it was in my best interest to terrorize the little hellion until I could get him out of my house. Now, what I said about bats being our friends is true, but there is the possibility of rabies and all, plus, wild animal, et. al... Bruce had to go.
I couldn't do that blind, though, so I crossed the room, duck, duck, Ali Lean (yay Boxing!), grabbed my glasses, duck, lean, duck, and stood out in the hallway, making my plans.
I didn't really want to hurt the little guy. I mean, all he wanted was to find a place to hang upside down for the night, and maybe a few bugs to snack on. Also, even if I did want to hurt him, the only weapon I have in my house that would be appropriate is my wakazashi, a Japanese short sword. Now, I'm no great shakes with a sword, and it's been years since I've fenced, but I could chop an apple in half if you lobbed it at me, and Bruce was of comparable size and speed, but I had no desire to spend the rest of the night picking up pieces of bat, nor did I feel like learning what bat blood would do to my carpets. This, then, was a strictly catch-and-release situation.
So I grabbed a clothes basket, and prepared to do battle with the Wild Kingdom. I am a MAN(TM), after all, and nature will bow to my will. This is kind of a funny picture, if you can get it in your head: there I stand, feral look upon my face, hair mussed from whatever it is we do in bed that musses our hair, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and glasses that still don't fit quite right after I kicked *myself* in the face playing soccer in Mexico (don't ask), and holding a big plastic clothes basket, watching Bruce do the 800 meter around my bedroom.
He came low enough for me to snag him, and I did so, tossing the basket, with him inside, triumphantly onto the bed. He didn't appreciate this, and squeaked indignantly. Then he crawled our a hole in the side of the basket, stuck his tongue out at me, and went back to his laps. Little dude has great cardio, I'll give him that.
Well, the makeshift cage didn't work, so I figured I'd go for a net. I grabbed a towel, flapped him with it a couple of times as he went all Perl Harbor on my face again, and finally managed to toss it over him. More squeaks, and as I tried to put the towel into the clothes basket, he crawled out again, and went for my face. I did the Ali Lean (yay Boxing!) since I was by the stairs at this point, and didn't want to do my impression of a Slinkey, and Bruce did a few more laps. As an aside, I kind of want to take a Slinkey and send it down the up escalator, and see which one wins. Oh, and yay Judo!, just because.
Anyhow, Bruce was getting tired. He flew behind my door, and took refuge in the shirt I had hanging up. He looked kind of cute, actually, all brown and furry and not remotely vampiric, and I could see the poor thing's lungs working overtime. On the other hand, I really wanted to go to bed, so he really had to go somewhere else. I tried to toss the shirt into the clothes basket, but he took wing once more, and flew at my face yet again. Ali lean (yay Boxing!). Now, I believe that the whole "fly right at the thing that is apparently trying to kill and eat you" thing is supposed to provoke a "cover my eyes, my delicate, sensitive eyes!" reaction, which I guess is understandable, but tactically speaking, isn't the greatest of strategies. I mean, if I was trying to kill and eat him, he would have flown right into my gaping maw, and more to the point, if I had decided to go the ginsu route, that little maneuver would have landed him right on the edge of my blade. Remember what I said about my reactions when I startled? Imagine me reacting with a yard long razor blade.
The final solution to this little dilemma involved a screen off of my storm door, the clothes basket, and the towel to cover the holes. He squeaked pitifully as I carried him downstairs. He really didn't want to be there, which was good, since I really didn't want him there. I took him outside and let him go. He flew back at my face, whether to say "good bye" or flip me the bird I can't be sure, though I like to think we parted on good terms, flew at my still-open door just to scare me, and then drifted into the night.
The moral of the story? There is a cosmic conspiracy that prevents me from getting a good night's sleep.
Anyhow it's about 1:00Am, and I hear this "skritch skritch, thwap, scritch." I assume that it's just the trees outside my window scrapping together, or something else that can be safely ignored, but my more primal brain, the part that is concerned with self-defense and nachos, elbowed me and said "that was coming from inside the house, bro... behind your door. You need to go check it out." I think I'm right, so I roll out of bed, flick on the light, and swing the door, so I can see what's scritching and thwaping about my house.
Now I am, ironically enough, blind as a bat without my contacts in, so all I can see is a little brown lump of animal, part of which was bulging in and out, as a toad's throat often does. This kind of confuses me, so as I lean down to get a better look, I'm thinking to myself "huh, that's weird, I wonder how a toad got all the way up OH MY GOD IT'S GOT WINGS AND IT'S FLYING RIGHT AT MY FACE!"
Now, few of you have seen how I react to sudden movement or loud noise. For those of you who haven't, if I get startled, I will at least jump. If I'm on edge, I'll actually come up into something that looks like a cross between a boxer's and wrestler's stance. On a couple of occasions, when I was particularly wired, I've actually had a punch on the way before I figured out what was happening and stopped myself. Now, for the most part, these reactions are completely useless, excepts as entertainment at parties. Every once and a while, though, a little brown ball of furry death will launch itself at my face, and I'm glad for the reflexes. Anyhow, I ninja rolled out of the way (yay Judo!) and came up in the corner, peripherally aware that there was a flying rodent doing laps around my bedroom.
Now, a part of me, the part of me that had to be up for work in a few hours, just wanted to turn off the light, shut the door, sleep on the couch, and deal with the thing in the morning. The more reasonable part of me, however, didn't want Bruce (I like to anthropomorphize) associating my bed with a place of safety and comfort, so I figured it was in my best interest to terrorize the little hellion until I could get him out of my house. Now, what I said about bats being our friends is true, but there is the possibility of rabies and all, plus, wild animal, et. al... Bruce had to go.
I couldn't do that blind, though, so I crossed the room, duck, duck, Ali Lean (yay Boxing!), grabbed my glasses, duck, lean, duck, and stood out in the hallway, making my plans.
I didn't really want to hurt the little guy. I mean, all he wanted was to find a place to hang upside down for the night, and maybe a few bugs to snack on. Also, even if I did want to hurt him, the only weapon I have in my house that would be appropriate is my wakazashi, a Japanese short sword. Now, I'm no great shakes with a sword, and it's been years since I've fenced, but I could chop an apple in half if you lobbed it at me, and Bruce was of comparable size and speed, but I had no desire to spend the rest of the night picking up pieces of bat, nor did I feel like learning what bat blood would do to my carpets. This, then, was a strictly catch-and-release situation.
So I grabbed a clothes basket, and prepared to do battle with the Wild Kingdom. I am a MAN(TM), after all, and nature will bow to my will. This is kind of a funny picture, if you can get it in your head: there I stand, feral look upon my face, hair mussed from whatever it is we do in bed that musses our hair, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and glasses that still don't fit quite right after I kicked *myself* in the face playing soccer in Mexico (don't ask), and holding a big plastic clothes basket, watching Bruce do the 800 meter around my bedroom.
He came low enough for me to snag him, and I did so, tossing the basket, with him inside, triumphantly onto the bed. He didn't appreciate this, and squeaked indignantly. Then he crawled our a hole in the side of the basket, stuck his tongue out at me, and went back to his laps. Little dude has great cardio, I'll give him that.
Well, the makeshift cage didn't work, so I figured I'd go for a net. I grabbed a towel, flapped him with it a couple of times as he went all Perl Harbor on my face again, and finally managed to toss it over him. More squeaks, and as I tried to put the towel into the clothes basket, he crawled out again, and went for my face. I did the Ali Lean (yay Boxing!) since I was by the stairs at this point, and didn't want to do my impression of a Slinkey, and Bruce did a few more laps. As an aside, I kind of want to take a Slinkey and send it down the up escalator, and see which one wins. Oh, and yay Judo!, just because.
Anyhow, Bruce was getting tired. He flew behind my door, and took refuge in the shirt I had hanging up. He looked kind of cute, actually, all brown and furry and not remotely vampiric, and I could see the poor thing's lungs working overtime. On the other hand, I really wanted to go to bed, so he really had to go somewhere else. I tried to toss the shirt into the clothes basket, but he took wing once more, and flew at my face yet again. Ali lean (yay Boxing!). Now, I believe that the whole "fly right at the thing that is apparently trying to kill and eat you" thing is supposed to provoke a "cover my eyes, my delicate, sensitive eyes!" reaction, which I guess is understandable, but tactically speaking, isn't the greatest of strategies. I mean, if I was trying to kill and eat him, he would have flown right into my gaping maw, and more to the point, if I had decided to go the ginsu route, that little maneuver would have landed him right on the edge of my blade. Remember what I said about my reactions when I startled? Imagine me reacting with a yard long razor blade.
The final solution to this little dilemma involved a screen off of my storm door, the clothes basket, and the towel to cover the holes. He squeaked pitifully as I carried him downstairs. He really didn't want to be there, which was good, since I really didn't want him there. I took him outside and let him go. He flew back at my face, whether to say "good bye" or flip me the bird I can't be sure, though I like to think we parted on good terms, flew at my still-open door just to scare me, and then drifted into the night.
The moral of the story? There is a cosmic conspiracy that prevents me from getting a good night's sleep.
