PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Let's see. James was still living in Clinton. I was living on the 8th floor. I still had ClancyMan the Cat, despite our allergies, and as one step to contain those allergies, Clancy did not sleep in my bedroom. (Clancy now lives with my best friend Shelley, where he is allowed to sleep on her HEAD.)

I got into bed, and had pulled the covers up. I hadn't turned the light off yet, when I heard this soft "thump thump thump" at my bedroom door. Usually, that would mean Clancy was doing his Uber-Cute reach-under-the-door-with-a-paw thing. I rolled over to look at the door. Miliseconds later, all of a sudden a BAT was flopping around my bedroom. I did what any normal person might do in that situation, I shrieked & immediately got under the covers, completely. Peeking out, I could see the bat FLYING LOW, all around the bedroom. HOLY SHITBUCKET. The phone was right by the bed. I snatched it. Called James. Who was living an hour away.
(He was asleep, of course.)

"hullo?"
"JAMES! THERE'S A BAT IN THE APARTMENT!"
"wull..... what's it doing?"
"IT'S FLYING AROUND AND AROUND AND IT'S DIVING AND SWOOPING! WHAT DO I DO?"
"open a window.....it will fly out. If it doesn't, open your door and get it out of the bedroom, then stuff towels under the doors and that will keep it out."
"I'M NOT DRESSED! WHAT DO I DO????"
(more repeating of the same directive.)

So we hang up. I slid out of bed and hit the floor like covert secret agent Sydney Bristow. I scrambled towards the bathroom and ultimately came around to the living room in my Bat Fighting Gear. Just use your inner eye to imagine this get-up. A royal blue cotton dress. A straw hat. A broom. And the piece de resistance, the scoop shovel my father gave me long ago in Minneapolis. (Remember, I'm in an apartment, all these things are readily available in my Fibber McGee closets.) I burst into the bedroom, poised to fight & using my scoop shovel as a giant HeadShield. I dash to the window, open it, and then look for the bat. It is happily perched up on the crown molding in the corner. Hesitantly, I get closer. I can not hit a bat with a broom, because I need to keep the scoop shovel in play as my defensive force field, and that impairs my vision, along with my giant straw hat. OH, I should also point out that before preparing for battle, I put Clancy Man into his crate in the bathroom, because I was convinced he would eat the bat if he caught it and then he could get rabies. Clancy was PISSED, because, after all, he had flushed the bat into the bedroom!
I am stymied and freaked out. I make another call. This time to an acquaintance, Shawn, who only lives 30 minutes away. "Hullo."
"SHAWN! I HAVE A BAT IN MY APARTMENT! I'M TRYING TO GET IT TO GO OUT A WINDOW AND IT WON'T GO!"

We run through my arsenal. I can tell he's amused. But he's now my BatFightin' Coach. "Jennifer. Just go in there, swat at the bat and get him flying. He'll go out the window. Set the phone down and give it a try. You are a modern woman, just channel your inner fighter, you can do this."

I set the phone down. Because I can't hold the phone, my broom AND the defense squadron scoop shovel. I proceed to repeat my process and I'm barely poking this bat, and it's annoyed, so it starts flying. Apparently, and because the phone is right there, I am (unaware that I am) yelling "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK" the entire time I am ducking, poking, SHIELDING, and otherwise NOT getting the bat out of the room. The bat just does a few courtesy flights around the room, every time returning to the same corner, I'm sure he was panting right along with me.

Back to the phone. Shawn is dying, because all the laughter is not allowing any oxygen into his body.
"SHAWN! IT'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE! IT KEEPS FLYING AROUND AND LANDING IN THE CORNER!"
"Try it again."

I did this three times. It's now 11:30 p.m. The bat got tired, I got tired, because it's an upper body workout, maneuvering a broom and scoop shovel. Finally, I said it. "Shawn. Will you please come over and help me?"
"Yes. I'll be there soon."
SO, thirty minutes later, Shawn calls up, comes up, within 15 seconds the bat has been thwacked down from the ceiling & tossed out the window. He said it was dead, my pollyanna self wanted to believe it just flopped off, stunned. Shawn declined the protective use of my scoop shovel through all of it. I think my outfit also made a statement, one that said, "This woman is CAH-RAY-ZAY. Back away, slowly." So we went outside and I breathed in some air and we talked about him moving away, which he eventually did, and then I went back upstairs. WHUPS. Clancy man. In his crate. Crapped his cat pants in all the excitement and being confined. Mmmm! Poopy kitty in an enclosed space. So I got to finish off an awesomely exciting evening of FIGHTING A BAT with BATHING A CAT, the cat that fights the whole time and tries to climb the shower curtain to escape.

This really was the "Big Bat Story". There were two more bats after this one, of course neither of those stories holds a candle to this one, but I'll tell them all the same - when you've had time to rest & perhaps unburn the image of me & a scoop shovel shield......