The Bat

The Bat

Originally posted here on July 16, 2012

On Thursday, I was frantically trying to blow dry my hair without sweating my makeup off in 10 minutes or less so I could attend a Squarespace webinar I signed up for last-minute. I shut off the blow dryer and started to tame my mane when I thought I saw something on the living room floor. I opened the door a little wider to find a bat starring straight at me.

And then I uttered loud words that were not profane but were also not ladylike so I’ll refrain from sharing them here.

But you can bet your bottom dollar they had this attached to the end of them:

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I did what any self-respecting woman would do: I locked myself in the bathroom. I wondered how long I could live in the bathroom. I questioned whether I could just let the bat have the rest of the apartment. I thought that THIS IS WHY PEOPLE HAVE HUSBANDS.

And then the fiesty single girl in me got fired up. Because I can DO THIS! I am a capable woman! I can conquer a bat!

I dumped all of the contents out of a basket in the bathroom! I opened the door!

And then I shut it again because I lost all of my nerve.

But then I opened it again…and slowly…slowly…with my toes curled under least he leap at them in fury… inched toward the bat and put the basket on top of it.

It was a short lived victory. In my haste to find a trap I picked the flimsiest basket I own, so lightweight that it just barely touched the ground over the bat.

So I grabbed a mixing bowl and put it on top of the basket.

Of course.

If you’re wondering what that looked like, here’s a visual:

Because why wouldn’t you take a picture and post it to Instagram in an effort to stall and figure out what to do next?

I decided to call my landlord because as the lord of this land I thought maybe he would be willing to come over and evict the squatter.

So I called my landlord…and got the third party answering service they use when they are away. I was speaking to a girl named Jenna whom I can only assume had no idea what she was in for when she picked up the phone. Namely this:

“Ok, so, I have a bat under a basket and I don’t know what to do with it. I mean, WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A BAT IN A BASKET?”

She responded by saying that bats are nocturnal animals and he was probably confused.

Yes, well, so was I. Confused as to why we were currently cohabitating.

She told me to slip something hard underneath of the basket and take him outside. Then she told me to call back if I had any additional concerns.

Since we’ve already established that my emotions are somewhat on the surface these days I responded with, “Jenna! I’M ADDITIONALLY CONCERNED ABOUT THIS.” Because I still had to deal with the sliding and the moving and the bat relocating! But then I reconsidered and just thanked her for her help and hung up.

Poor Jenna.

At this point bat boy was trying to claw his way out of the basket, which made me feel so much better about the entire situation. I proceeded to pace around my apartment, half looking for strong flat objects to slide underneath the basket and half giving myself inspirational pep talks.

You are bigger than the bat.

You are better than the bat.

Who is bigger and better than the bat? You are!

I found a flat board. Luckily I had the forethought to prop open the doors between my apartment and the outside entry and to clip my keys to my dress. After a good 5 minutes of deciding how best to do the “lift and slide” (ala Friends) I just went for it. I put a towel over the top of the basket incase his claws poked through the holes and slid the board under the basket.

The action was met with squeals. Which, clearly, was the reaction I was hoping for. I saw that I had trapped his little bat wing between the basket in the board so, of course, I said, “OH! Sorry sorry sorry!!!” and repeatedly apologized to the bat while repositioning the basket. With the firmest grasp I could muster I picked everything up and fled down the stairs. I put him on the sidewalk and tipped the basket over.

And off he flew, no worse for the wear.

I also documented this sequence because it’s just what I do. So here’s what that looked like:

And that’s Thursday.

It really put my fruit fly problem in proper perspective.



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