The bat, the cat, and the splat

I don't even step on ants; when I find an insect in the house, they are waterboarded into the toilet, where I'm pretty sure most survive the cruise through the pipes and live to fly another day. I certainly don't kill animals! But when desperate to protect my health, family and pet, I can call on some reserves of evil.

Last night about 8:45 I was checking my e-mail, the cat was in my lap and something making a shadow flies past my head. There was no noise so I am pretty sure it wasn't an insect, and the cat went berserk. I look around and can't see anything. Kitty is sure there was something--maybe Abbie our grandpuppy come to pester her. I call to my husband in the living room--"There's something flying in the house," I shout. "What?" he shouts back. Then he said, "Oh my gosh, there's a bat in the living room," and he leaves to use the rest room. Faithful kitty, who is 11 years old and weighs 7 lbs, goes into action and transforms herself into a large mountain lion protecting her territory. I'm ducking, cowering and yelling as the bat swoops lower and lower, first my office, then the hall, then the living room, around and around. I am afraid to open the door because the cat might chase the bat outside, and she's an indoor rescue cat who used to be homeless and has serious issues to this day about being on the street. Also, I have no idea how the bat got in--and maybe he has cousins and brothers looking for him. I had just walked in the front door at 8:30, so possibly he quietly crossed the border then.

I run to the basement and grab the first weapon I can find, a yellow, pink and green duster with a long handle--I think it cost $1 about 10 years ago and is very fluffy and colorful. Meanwhile, the cat has actually made contact on several swoops of the bat by jumping up, and the bat is tiring, gliding more slowly and lower. Smack--the cat knocks the bat to the hall floor, blending with our tasteful brown and gray marble; splat--I hit the bat with the duster. The bat, completely covered now with the colorful fringy duster is squealing and screaming. On my knees I reach for the door knob. The door is locked! Holding the bat down firmly with the duster, I unlock the door, and with my other hand scoot the bat across the marble, across the threshold and flip it out the door, my eyes tearing as it screams in its little bat alarm voice (probably calling for reinforcements).

Bats are some of God's most amazing creatures--he must have had a blast designing their incredibly ugly faces. I know bats are very useful creatures--they eat 2000 insects a night and pollinate plants, and only a few are rabid, but I couldn't take any chances--he might be one of those few. Their little bat bites are so tiny, we might not even know if we or the cat were bitten last night. After all, he was confused, and tiring easily--signs of a virus, possibly. Maybe he was sick. Ten minutes later (my husband was out of the bathroom by then) I open the door just a bit (they can enter spaces as small as 1/4")--he had stopped struggling and was in a little brown ball on the green porch mat. I look again in 20 minutes--and breathe a sigh of relief seeing he is gone. I didn't want to pick up a dead bat on my way to coffee on Sunday, and really was hoping he'd survived my cruel blows. I probably just stunned him, and in the cool air, he collected his thoughts, spread his wings, and flew off to catch some bugs. With a great story to tell the other bats.