For the last couple of evenings we I have had to deal with bats flying into our house. We’veI’ve never had this issue before as the little critters normally tend to stay outside where they belong but the for the last couple of evenings their radar sense thingi must have been switched off cos they have been entering our patio door and flying around the house.
Picture the scene. Sam & Cliff sitting on the couch with Jazzy the killer jack russel on one of their laps. Drinking a glass of wino, and watching some crap on TV when suddenly Bart the bat decides to pop in for a visit. Bart swoops over our heads over and over and my dear husband (the man of the relationship) squeals like a girl and orders me to attend to the problem (this growing up in the bush crap has gone far enough cos darn why should *I* have to deal with Bart *just* cos I grew up in the bush??). Anyway after Bart bomb dives us a few times he finally lands on the ledge of our picture window and I get a tea towel, throw it over him, gingerly pick him up and toss him outside in the dark where he belongs.
Sit back down, sip some wine, tease Cliff about being such a girl and WHAM, Bart comes back inside WITH A FRIEND, Betty. Replay the scene above with Cliff squealing like a girl – the killer jack russel trying to jump up and catch Bart & Betty to eat them alive and me trying to get the little shits to land somewhere safe so I can toss the tea towl and grab them and let them out the house. Finally we got Bart and Betty to realise that they really were not welcome in our house (and closed the door firmly behind them to keep the gatecrashers out).
So the next night – Bart the little shit decides that *he’s* not being kicked out of our nice pad and – fwoops – flies back into the house while I’m cooking dinner. Cue girly screaming and squealing. I rush out the kitchen to see Bart fly into our bedroom (#E$#$##$#@@%%^##!!!). I rush up the stairs, close the curtain to stop him from from flying back downstairs. After Bart dive bombing me for 20 minutes and me ducking and diving flapping the tea towel in his flight path to get him to land somewhere, he decided to land on our curtain rail, so I tried to grab him with the tea towel and – fwoops – off he went again. Another 20 minutes later he landed on the other curtain rail behind the rail. I tried to get the tea towel behind him to grab him and next thing I heard was “Hiiiiisssssss, and POP!” I pooped in my pants (not really) and dropped the bat on the floor in fright.
Once we got the killer jack russel away from it, we saw that in my desperation to grab Bart with the tea towel I inadvertendly popped him! Crap a doodle! Poor Bart got flushed down our loo… I felt SO bad… and our penance for the evening was eating a slightly scortched spaghetti bolognaise for dinner…
Needless to say that as soon as the sun went down last night our door was closed to stop Betty and her mates from coming inside to get revenge on us! Can you imagine what scale of war they would have waged on me for murdering their mate?