We only had 1 bat story. Mom & Step-dad had the 2nd floor, we had the 3rd floor of a house. Communal back stairway with porches on each level. Sylvia caught a bat on the 3rd floor and trotted down to the 2nd to show off her "kill" as she had never caught a thing before. Mom freaked, I locked her out of my apt, step-dad caught the cat and bat. They took cat & bat to the vet to make sure no rabies. Me? I screamed bloody murder at the mere thought of a bat near me. Am I a wuss? Yes, and proud of it. (Neither the cat or her kill had rabies).
And here I was busy wondering which wall of the house would be good to stick up a bat house. The other half isn't keen, but they eat bugs, and I'm for that.
The only bat I had to evict got in through a small crack at the bottom of an old fashioned wood window frame. My tenants, a burly Aussie Phd student and his English wife called me to do the deed as they expected me to know how to evict Canadian wild life. Good thing it wasn't a bear. Cloth over bat, broom to sweep/catch it in the dust pan and out the door to fly off before the cats could get it. Whew. Ah, the good old days when I had to pretend to be brave and capable.
I came home with Batdog from his obedience class to find all the lights in the house on and Brian prowling around waving a queen-sized flat sheet (but no chains*). He swore he had seen a bat but we couldn't find the critter and finally went to bed.
Shortly after midnight, I became aware that the New Kids were acting extremely interested in something that was leading them from the spare room to the bathroom and back. I turned on the light and whoosh! Mr Bat began swooping in circles around the hall and the spare room, and eventually found his way to the living room, where he clung to the top of our fieldstone chimney.
After a great deal of fruitless to-and-fro-ing the damned thing flew into the sheet Brian was holding up and was promptly whisked outside, where he managed to escape from the sheet before he was beaten to death.
My sister and I woke up one night to a bat fluttering and flapping around in our room. Our dad caught it with a rag while the dog and cat both tried to "help". Lynn and I generally kept a low profile. My mother was a quivering wreck. How that woman could be so nonchalant about snakes and such a wuss about any other form of wildlife is one of life-s great mysteries.
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We only had 1 bat story. Mom & Step-dad had the 2nd floor, we had the 3rd floor of a house. Communal back stairway with porches on each level. Sylvia caught a bat on the 3rd floor and trotted down to the 2nd to show off her "kill" as she had never caught a thing before. Mom freaked, I locked her out of my apt, step-dad caught the cat and bat. They took cat & bat to the vet to make sure no rabies. Me? I screamed bloody murder at the mere thought of a bat near me. Am I a wuss? Yes, and proud of it. (Neither the cat or her kill had rabies).
And here I was busy wondering which wall of the house would be good to stick up a bat house. The other half isn't keen, but they eat bugs, and I'm for that.
The only bat I had to evict got in through a small crack at the bottom of an old fashioned wood window frame. My tenants, a burly Aussie Phd student and his English wife called me to do the deed as they expected me to know how to evict Canadian wild life. Good thing it wasn't a bear. Cloth over bat, broom to sweep/catch it in the dust pan and out the door to fly off before the cats could get it. Whew. Ah, the good old days when I had to pretend to be brave and capable.
I came home with Batdog from his obedience class to find all the lights in the house on and Brian prowling around waving a queen-sized flat sheet (but no chains*). He swore he had seen a bat but we couldn't find the critter and finally went to bed.
Shortly after midnight, I became aware that the New Kids were acting extremely interested in something that was leading them from the spare room to the bathroom and back. I turned on the light and whoosh! Mr Bat began swooping in circles around the hall and the spare room, and eventually found his way to the living room, where he clung to the top of our fieldstone chimney.
After a great deal of fruitless to-and-fro-ing the damned thing flew into the sheet Brian was holding up and was promptly whisked outside, where he managed to escape from the sheet before he was beaten to death.
(*Jacob Marley reference).
My sister and I woke up one night to a bat fluttering and flapping around in our room. Our dad caught it with a rag while the dog and cat both tried to "help". Lynn and I generally kept a low profile. My mother was a quivering wreck. How that woman could be so nonchalant about snakes and such a wuss about any other form of wildlife is one of life-s great mysteries.
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