Bats in the bedroom
by Deb Mercier / August 7, 2006

My husband woke me up early this morning, before the sun was even thinking about making an appearance. He was sitting on the side of the bed, and I squinted at his head, thinking something must be wrong – something other than the fact that it was still dark and no human being in her right mind would voluntarily roll out of bed before, say, noon.

The something wrong happened to have wings and was flapping in circles above my husband’s head. Being highly intelligent and intuitive at that hour, I asked, “Is there a bat in here?” Equally sharp, my husband looked up and said, “Huh?” quickly followed by, “Jeez!”

I’ve never seen a 6’2” guy hit the floor quite so quickly. Had we been in a cartoon, he would have left a puff of smoke.

Normally, I’m just fine with bats. I even enjoy watching them dive around the yard in the dusk and early morning – mostly because I know they’re eating boatloads of mosquitoes. But echolocation can be a tricky thing when you’re freaked out and a bat to the face at 5:00 a.m. is just not my idea of a good time. I pulled the covers over my head, peering out from relative safety as the little booger swooped and circled.

From his place on the floor, my husband asked how I’d caught a previous winged and hairy visitor. That bat happened to be hanging out with my son and I; with the wonders of duct tape, we had rigged up a laundry basket/mop thing and sat on the living room floor until the bat landed, then trapped it high up on the wall. But the key to that plan was the bat actually landing. The one currently flapping around our bedroom looked like it had had a couple of double-shot espressos at the local bat café.

Eventually, it flurried out of the bedroom and into the living room. The kicker is, we can’t find it now. The dogs were particularly helpful on this front. When I told them to find the bat, one went back to sleep, and the other looked expectantly at her food dish.

So. Either the bat has a secret passage, or it’s hiding somewhere in the house. Neither option is particularly appealing. I just need to remind myself that in China, the bat is a symbol of longevity and happiness. Who’s longevity and happiness – mine or the bat’s – isn’t clear.

© 2006 Deborah Mercier