It was a dark and stormy night—well,
it was dark. In fact, it was pitch black because Grammy Dee was sleeping in the
basement bedroom, the one she always occupies when visiting her daughter and
family. The room has no windows. But it does
have a fireplace...with a dark, gaping opening.
Around midnight, Grammy Dee dreamed about a
butterfly fluttering around her head. As
sleep morphed into wakefulness, she realized this was no dream. And if the
creature circling the room was a butterfly, it was on steroids.
Grammy Dee hid under the covers and
hoped the nocturnal visitor would go away. But even with a comforter over her
head, she could hear the frantic flap,
flap, flap...flap, flap, flapping of its wings. The creature was trapped.
And so was Grammy Dee.
Summoning her courage, Grammy Dee
bounded from her bed. She flipped on the light switch and opened the bedroom door.
Her worst fears were realized as the bat
luffed its way from the bedroom and into the cave-like darkness of the living
area. Grammy Dee slammed the door and climbed back into bed. She’d be safe from
the bat at least until morning.
But as she lay there, she started to
worry. What if the bat flew upstairs? What if it bit her darling and extremely
smart little grandsons and turned them into vampires? And what if they weren’t
nice, well-dressed vampires like those in the Twilight series,
but mean, ugly ones like in Horror of Dracula? Once again Grammy Dee leaped
from her bed and turned on the light.At the bedroom door, she hesitated then opened it just a crack. She listened for more flap-flapping. Hearing nothing, she rushed to turn on the light in the living area.
With the stealth of a stalker,
Grammy Dee searched the room. Then she spied it—a small, mud-colored triangle
on the floor between the couch and the big chair. She inched closer to confirm
her suspicion. Yes, the triangle had pointy big ears and bony little claws.
Backing up slowly, her heart pounding, Grammy Dee fought to keep her wits about
her and devise a plan.
She knew from experience—a bird once
flew into her house—it might be a good idea to throw a sheet or towel over the
bat. But what if the bat was only pretending to be dead or sleeping? What if it
was “playing possum”? What if it suspected what Grammy Dee was up to and, when
she came close to trap it, flew up and sunk its fangs into her jugular? Grammy
Dee thought some more and came to a reasonable, if rather sexist, conclusion: Bat-catching
is a man’s job. She climbed the
stairs to the main floor and gently roused Kristin and her husband Brad by announcing,
“There’s a bat in your basement!!!”
Grammy Dee and Kristin crept down the
stairs and waited for Brad who was putting in his contacts. He had to do that
because without them, he’s blind as a...well, a bat. When he came downstairs,
the two women, from under their protective head gear of throw pillows, gave him
moral support and advice.
Heeding their expert instructions,
Brad flung a towel over the bat. Suspense hung thick in the air as everyone
waited. When the bat made no effort to move, Brad scooped it up, towel and all,
and hurled it into the yard.
With crisis averted, carpet cleaner
was applied to eliminate any possible bat residue, and Brad and Kristin
returned to bed. But just in case the bat had relatives who might come searching
for him, Grammy Dee placed a card table in front of the fireplace opening
before retiring.
The next morning, the episode made
for an interesting post on Facebook and drew many comments. Among them was one
from friends who’d previously been guests in the basement bedroom: “That place
is so dark we’ve always referred to it as the ‘bat cave.’”
Grammy Dee thinks that’s a fitting
name. But please don’t refer to it as the “old bat’s cave.”
What about you? Any close encounters of the critter kind you'd care to share?
