Bat Boy of the Lake

I was not prepared to share a bedroom with him.

He clung there on the window while I squeezed myself onto a downstairs couch. My two cats were delighted. I woke up with muscle aches where I didn’t know I had muscles.

The day before, I’d arrived at our cottage on a lovely sunny afternoon. My arriving ritual included going upstairs to release the stuffy air. The front of the house faces the lake, so when I opened the old casement windows and pulled the glass pane across the screen to let in a rush of fresh lake breeze, there it was.

At first, hopefully a rag or a very large bug. I only wish. It was a bat, hanging there upside down on the screen. I let out a low gasp—Oh Gawd—backed out of the room and shut the door.

Bats must be at the top of the ugly duckling list when it comes to nature’s pets. I’ve met people who tell me that their faces are “quite cute,” but most of us can’t get by the fact that this is a Frankenstein creation: part rodent, part bird, part insect.

I can pick up snakes, salamanders, toads, snails, and frogs. I’ve held birds in my hands and let dogs and cats of all varieties lick my hands, even occasionally chew on me. I’m even pretty Zen about mice that get into the pantry unless they startle me and I’ve rescue baby racoons in our attic. But for the life of me, I cannot manage to even look at a bat.

At least, not close up and personal.

My challenge was to figure out whether he was inside the screen or outside, or possibly dead. In the afternoon light of the front porch, I decided outside, so I relaxed. But as the light shifted into evening, it was clear that he was between the glass and the screen, that is, if he really tried, he could squeeze himself back into the bedroom.

I had to be brave. I called my daughter (the one who’d helped pull a frozen raccoon out from under our deck one spring) and told her to stand by—I’m going in. I wasn’t going to catch the bat, but I was going to get the casement windows closed to at least contain him. Mobile in one hand, broom in another, it was a tactical mission that I pulled off pretty much with my eyes closed.

Then I called my neighbour over for help. He’s a big, athletic guy who rides ATV vehicles, road bikes, and tractor mowers, so he could, of course, take on a bat. At least, I thought so. He surveyed the situation from the safety of the front lawn, protected by his two very large dogs and fierce miniature husky. “I guess you’re hoping I might go up there and get him? He asked in a small, child-like voice. I told him I’d give it twenty-four hours before I asked again.

I used telephone support again. This time, my husband mansplained how I should use a salad bowl and a piece of plywood to capture the bat and carry him outside. I’d have to open the glass window first and risk setting the critter free inside the house. I was not going to do that. I set up a bed on the downstairs couch and waited for reinforcements in the morning.

By ten o’clock, my brave daughter—in-law and fearless four-year-old Patrick arrived. Without breaking a sweat, she went in, salad bowl in hand. The operation went smoothly. Extraction complete. Once placed outside on our deck, he lay there, bat wings spread out, opening his very tiny mouth and panting.

For a moment, I was seriously worried about the health of the little guy.

But once he regained his composure, the panting changed to a kind of hiss. It all seemed kind of futile, and cute in a bat-sort-of-way. Patrick tickled his feet with a leaf, then left him to recover. By the time we’d both returned, Mr. Bat had disappeared from our lives.

Before he left, I took photos, some at a distance, and others, a bit closer up. It was a kind of exposure therapy. T be honest, these rather creepy creatures are both strange yet interesting. They can eat 1,000 mosquitos a night, which makes me think I should have kept him. Just think of all those plastic contraptions that are supposed to trap mosquitoes. None of them come close to a bat. I also learned later that bats are quite unselfish, known to share food with other bats.

I now felt guilty that I didn’t like him or his friends more. So, I promised to try harder.

But at the same time, grateful to know that he’d flown away safely—and much relieved that I didn’t see him go.