There’s a Bat in the Bedroom

And he nearly killed me. Well, not really

Whoosh. Once, I didn’t like bats. It’s because of this one delightful summer evening when a bat was dive bombing in the bedroom of our big old home on the east side of Providence.

Whoosh. Diane woke with a start. “There’s something in the room!” Whoosh.

“What?” Swish, Swirl. “What the hell!” Flap, dive, flap. “Oh dear.” Whoosh, swish, swirl, dive, flap.

The fireworks stopped for a moment. It was dark. Quiet. Then the bedroom night broke into a scramble vibrating from every corner of the room with a flight pattern that was unpredictable, erratic, and startling.

Again, and again. Now there. Now here. “It’s a bat! Cover up”

The sheet over our heads was not the answer. We, I, had to do something.

Though I felt some trepidation while I lay beneath those sheets, at the same time I was aware that I harbored a potential act of bravery and heroism deep down somewhere under the canopy. So I jumped up. My eyes were sandy and my brain foggy, but the air didn’t take long to clear. Zipp. I ducked. Zipp. I ducked again. Marvelous feats of flying but I didn’t care.

My naive knowledge came from the movies and hearsay. You know, vampires, Lugosi, blood-sucking, rabies carriers, and all that other kind of misunderstanding, misinformation crap. So I gave little thought until that night.

The sudden appearance of a bat can lead to surprising, humorous, and stupid consequences. As a novice at bat dispersals, I leaned toward the stupid. Let’s see, I should open a window wide. Now that was a good idea. Throw open the sash. Ugh. Trite.

But how to get the bat to the window? I had little idea that a bat would know how to find its way, you know, sonar and stuff like that, so I figured a broom with hearty whiskers would lead the way. Echolocation would do the rest. Echo what?

“Get a broom or something.”

I didn’t have time to admire his acrobatic feats of flying in the dark, so I pitched the light.

“Yeah, good idea, a broom.”

Would he turn on me and my weapon? I was thinking of leathery wings and sharp teeth. And he ( I assume it was he) made me short of breath. A good bat will do that. I snapped the window to the max, grabbed the broom, and decided to chase the bat toward it, whisking him away if you will.

The chaotic attempts to shoo a bat out of a bedroom can be humorous. For example, as he swooped round and round avoiding the sweeps while looking for an exit, echolocating I guess,  I wondered if he could see that I don't wear pajamas. Don’t worry. I wear something. It’s just not a uniform. It’s a tee shirt and boxer shorts. Who would chase a bat in the nude?

The shortness of breath? As I chased around, dodging in haphazard, unpredictable ways, and swiped, I became acutely short of breath. Jumping up from a deep sleep and running around a bedroom in underwear while waving a broom without first warming up will do that. So I hunkered to the floor, thinking of the absurdity of my actions. “Are you OK?”

“No. I'm not OK. I’m gonna die here.” As I sat quietly, save for the gasps, what do you think happened? The intruder seemed to slow down as if he were getting used to the place. He must have realized that the lug on the floor was no longer a threat. He acclimated to the bedroom, echolocated, found the open window, looked back, and out he went, flapping a goodbye wave. Or so I assumed. A kind bat will do that.

Misunderstanding leads to fear. He wasn't evil. Or hungry for blood. He was lost. And so was I. We had that in common. We had much more in common. We feared the unknown. We feared being lost. We feared the unexpected. We both wanted out. We lacked patience. We feared death. We were reacting at top speed when all we had to do was slow down, think, and not react.

And all would be fine.

And it was.

I felt sorry for that bat. His days and nights were spent being a good guy playing a beneficial role in ecosystems with insect control and pollination. He just lost his way one evening. Don’t we all now and again?

I'll bet he felt sorry for me. I hope he did. I nearly died fighting the unknown for no reason whatsoever. I witnessed nature’s best, an acrobat making his way, not looking for trouble, and I wondered why I tried to chase him away.

Nowadays, I have a bat house to attract them. We could use a good bat today.

And so the fool’s limerick.

In my bedroom was a black bat

Equipped with the wings of an acrobat

He swooped through the room

Avoiding the broom

While I fell on my ass with a splat

My goodness, if that bat, who I now consider a friend, ever knew I wrote that gaff, he might return, this time with a wise message. What do you think it might be?