I generally get to bed at a reasonable hour, but on Saturday night, I indulged in watching mindless television, starting at what is typically my bedtime, 11pm. The programs I watched were surprisingly entertaining, one series with a Sci-Fi storyline, the other, a relationship/comedy series which made me laugh with a guffaw at times. I wasn’t sure if the programs were newly syndicated or not, but the end of the credits for the first show indicated that it was moving to a new day and time come January, so at least that one is a primetime show that was catching late-nighters such as myself that was doing nothing social on a Saturday night.
I hate to get pulled into television shows because I always feel like I’m wasting my time in front of a box (I don’t have a fancy flat screen and use rabbit ears whose wires are held together with Scotch Tape and one of those heavy duty black metal office paper clips with the two metal squeezy-thing-a-ma-jigs that open and close the clamp) when I could be doing other things. But these two shows were on late (for me) Saturday night, too late to do anything productive with exception to fixing me a cup of hot chocolate or a bowl (or two) of ice cream.
One of my cats lovingly sat on my sprawled out blanket-covered legs as I watched television, but the other had slipped out and gone upstairs. I could hear her occasionally jump to the floor with a surprisingly loud “thud”; nothing unusual as that is the typical sound cats make when they jump off a bed or dresser and land. Maybe they're surprisingly loud when they land because they have small feet and they concentrate their weight onto their four small paws, landing on all four at the same time. Come to think of it, they seem to land on all four paws together more often than not, rather than consecutive “thump-thumps” as if in step.
What was unusual, however, is that I heard her jump off and land several times. Typically, at such an hour, she might go upstairs and be sleeping on the bed or more likely, be on the couch with me making occasional cute noises as she yawns. I thought it odd, but inevitably lost myself in the television shows. See? The evils of television? Not only does it rarely promote one to think, but it has a sedating effect that distracts. More on the evils of television at another time, because the shows served its purpose for the night: distract and entertain. Thank goodness!
I went upstairs and got ready for bed much later than I was used to: 2am! Damn that television! I started to undress when I caught a quick flitter in the corner of my eye, as my she-cat sat on the bed tracking this very same shadowy element. What in the…? Oh, geez! This is no shadow or late-night induced illusion! I ducked and moved away to avoid this wraith as my heart started to pound, adrenaline excreting thanks to the unexpected startling.
It’s a bat! Man, it’s winter, and cold outside! Don’t you have a cave to go hibernate in? I immediately put my shirt back on because I didn’t want some bat disease, you know? A similar thing happened once before about five or six years ago in the summertime, and a bat that managed to get into the house landed onto my bare back while I was trying to capture it to release it! Not again, Mr. Bat. I will not fall for such trickery! Since that incident several years ago, I recall coming across information that bats tend to carry diseases. I suppose I could look it up and add a link as proof, much like I’m finding many of the proficient bloggers do as I join in this exhibitionist act of web logging. But I don’t have the patience to figure all of that out right now. Maybe once I start writing more socially consequential blogs I’ll give it a try, but this one is about a bat and my personal rants and raves for Pete’s sake.
I was surprised at the silence of the bat’s flight. I expected to hear it chirp to echo-locate objects such as myself, the walls, etc., but it just fluttered around in circles silently. The other remarkable thing was how long it just flew around in circles. Round and round it went, like a child’s toy plane on a string that’s twirled around an axis. It didn’t seem to run out of steam.
Luckily, almost immediately when I came upstairs, she-cat left the bedroom, allowing me to close the door and trap Mr. Bat in the bedroom. I truly have no idea if the bat was male or female, but I'll just make him a boy bat. Mr. Bat continued to fly around, back and forth along the length of my bedroom, at times appearing to be making a beeline for my face, as I would back away or duck. I finally got used to his false-charges and trusted that the bat would veer away at the last moment, which he did. I proceeded to open a window, hoping he would somehow realize that freedom existed just beyond the two-foot opening. No such luck. He just kept circling and circling, hovering along the ceiling for the most part. I grabbed a shirt hoping to catch him in mid-air as though with a net, but damn, this thing is not only elusive, but exceptionally agile in flight. I guess that’s why bats can snatch insects in flight so proficiently.
After over 10-minutes of constant flying, the poor chap started to lose his energy reserves. He finally landed onto the right-hand corner of the door jamb after three attempts of bumping into it and fluttering about, doing more fly-bys around me. But the instant I turned toward his make-shift perch, off to the races he went once again. The next two times he landed and flew again it became increasingly obvious that he was getting tired, with his flight path veering closer and closer to the floor. Finally, he landed on the floor – a bat’s landing is rarely graceful - and nestled beneath the electrical cords to my lamp and clock by my bed. I tossed my shirt on top of him, and could see his folded wings and little hands exposed, laying still.
I gently picked up Mr. Bat, who was negligible in weight. As though an antitheft alarm, he started to chirp in constant staccato fashion that reminded me of some kind of secret government transmitter. Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! I hurriedly carried him to the open window, hoping that he would fly out to freedom, which I assume he did, because he did not fly back in. I quickly closed the window and was pleased with a job well done. I just hope he didn’t die in the night by freezing to death… I think I will avoid learning about the winterization techniques of bats out of fear that I sent him to his death, although he would have met certain death had he remained in my house. Good luck, Mr. Bat.
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