The Batastrophe (#3)

Anyone who knows me well knows my fear of grasshoppers.  Irrational to some (ahem, Flash), if you understand my fear of things that might touch me in flight, you can see why an insect that jumps/flies in random directions and certainly with the intent to land and you can see why a walk through tall grass might as well be hell on earth for me.

About the only thing worse for me, is the idea that something might fly near and/or land on me in the dark.  There isn't enough therapy in the world should a large flying bug decide my living room is within it's flight pattern after dark.

So, imagine, if you will, my terror this morning, when I slowly came out of my dream state of sleep to realize quite suddenly that something has just flown over my head in very close proximity.  Such close proximity that it was the actual sound of flapping wings that woke me.  (I might need a Xanax just to retell this story.) It did not take long to confirm my worst, and I do mean worst fear.  There was a bat flying around my bedroom.

Now, let's review: 

Bat #1 was found in my living room lamp a few years back, during the daytime, and was removed by my very very kind neighbor, Nate.

Bat #2 attached itself to my nativity crèche this past Christmas, discovered one fine evening and was removed by The Soon-to-Be Mister.

This is Bat #3.   BAT NUMBER THREE.  In my bedroom.  IN MY BEDROOM.  At six in the morning.  IN THE DARK PEOPLE!!!!  

The Mister had left for work two hours earlier.  The teenager was asleep below me and was apparently deaf to my screams.  I immediately hid under the covers and there may have been cursing.  Loud, serious cursing.  I would rather give unmedicated birth to triplets than to be in the situation I found myself in.  Seriously.  I reached out just enough to turn on the light, thinking at least the #%$& thing would stop flying.  I peeked out twice, barely pulling the covers back far enough to see, but enough to know that a) it was still circling and b) THE CAT WAS SITTING ON A CHAIR WATCHING IT.   

I took several deep breaths and reached out again for my cell phone.  With shaking hands, I texted The Mister, "I have a major major problem.  There is a bat in the bedroom." And, because there is a God in Heaven who was not too offended by the aforementioned cursing, the Mister was not out on the floor of the plant grading cattle, but was in the office and immediately texted back, "I will be there in twenty minutes."  God, I love that man.

I stayed under the covers, although I did try texting and calling Flash sev.er.al times.  Ahem.  He slept.  The Mister texted me to suggest I close the door at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the bedroom.  I texted back, "I am NOT leaving this f'ing bed!!!!" To which, again, because he is a saint, he replied, "ok."  

Twenty minutes is a lot longer than I previously had thought, it turns out.   The bat did stop flying around the room, but then I realized with complete horror, that meant it had landed somewhere.  The bathroom door adjoining our room was wide open.  Worse yet, the walk in closet door was wide open.   Oh dear God!  There is now a bat in the walk in closet!!!  

The Mister came home, went to the basement for his thick work gloves and then worked his way through the still-dark house, turning on lights, checking the curtains, couches, rooms and corners for the bat.

When he got upstairs, I was still in bed, trembling, trying to remember the realtor's phone number.  He immediately started moving things about to which I pointed out that I was STILL IN THE ROOM.  With his assurance the downstairs was safe, I ran, RAN down the stairs and out of that room, closing the door behind me.

I'll admit, the guilt was thick.   I had basically forced my husband into a room closed off with a bat.  Something I would not do for a million dollars.  I woke the teenager long enough to say, "There's a bat!" but he doesn't even remember me doing that.  The Mister went though the bathroom and the rest of the room until he realized as I had that surely it was in the closet.  Brave man that he is, he figured out it was in a boot of mine (he could hear it.  Thank God I didn't hear that sound, I'd never survive!)  He shouted down to me to open the door and get out of the way (like I needed to be instructed to do that!). He took the boot out on the deck and I watched from the kitchen window as the bat flew out.

OH MY GOD.  

We both took a couple deep breaths.  I hugged him and thanked him profusely, and then he headed back to work. 

The teen woke FOUR HOURS LATER and didn't know what all the fuss was about.  (He did agree to make my number one that would actually make his phone ring in the middle of the night, you know, like if there was an EMERGENCY.  Good to know, his mother, of all people, was NOT a number that would previously have caused alarm in the night.)

So all is well.  For now.  I have lasagne on tap for dinner, made especially for brave bat hunters (read that: not for Flash).  And the Mister, God bless him, has been calm and cool and was "just glad to help out".   He did quietly point out, though, that again, I am the one who has had rabies shots.

I just think it's a good thing that I won't have to be in that room again, certainly not at night again until.....oh wait....#%$&!!!