PlazaJen: Passion Knit

The apartment building jacked up my rent and so instead of luxuriating in my break-in-able first floor apartment, we moved me up to the 8th floor. (Yes, there was an elevator. It was built, I believe, in 1812 in honor of the War, and Overture, and had lost all its charm, except when it didn't work, and then it looked peachy compared to the stairwell.)

The Next in the Bat Story Series: We had returned from a big road trip through Iowa, visiting my freshly-divorced parents, separately, of course, so that was fraught with all sorts of excitement and nerves. I will tell you what I remember the most about that trip? James gamely ate potato salad at my mother's apartment, despite being a person who does not eat mayo-based salads, and then when the a/c went out in my car and we were forced to drive in the summer heat with the windows down, we coped by waving wildly out the window at EVERY SINGLE VEHICLE we passed on the two-lane highway. Anyone waving back made us giddy with delight. But it was hot, and it's a long drive and so we got back to my apartment and collapsed. The next morning, I trailed behind James towards the kitchen, desperate for coffee, and not wearing glasses. He was making the coffee, and I stood in the dining room, blinking. Something in the corner caught my eye. Way up high. A dark blob on the crown molding.
"James?"
"Yeah?"
"What's that up there? I don't have my glasses on."
James: shuffling, looks up at the corner in question.
"Oh. That's a bat. Leave it alone and try not to wake it up."

WHA HA HA HA HA WHAT? Well that was not an adequate solution or answer. I commenced with the Freaking Out Over the Bat Presence. "GET IT OUT OF HERE!" Screw coffee, a live bat in the house is enough to make me get my glasses on and move at speeds ordinarily associated with 2 in the afternoon.

James got his trout net out and stood on a stepstool. Unfortunately, the crown molding posed a problem. And at that moment, the bat woke up, and began hissing at James, showing a lower set of icky teeth.
"Just leave the room, Jennifer."
And the bat was, unfortunately, sent to the Big Batsoteria in the Sky.

I love bats, when they're outside and catching bugs and skeeters and flopping about, with their sonar and amazing dips and dives. I'm not afraid of them at all - but when they're inside, I turn into a shrieking basket case, and that, dear internet, is what happened on an even grander scale with the NEXT Bat Story.

And yes, I did eventually figure out where the hell they were getting in.