(Photo has absolutely nothing to do with this story because… leaking bat)
It is loud here.
Very. Loud.
It all starts when oldest grand girl comes out of her bedroom and begins to scream about the bat swooping over my head and around the living room and into the kitchen and back into the living room.
I scream at her to get back in her room and shut her door.
I run upstairs to slam shut bedroom doors, which startles the littlest grand girl–asleep in her portacrib–and she starts to scream.
Ignoring both of their screams, I throw open the front door and, unable to make the screen door plunger stick, I pull the porch table over to hold the door open.
I flip on the porch light. I’m trying to lure the bat out, but then run to the kitchen as I hear the it hit the window. It now rests on window sill.
I scream at the cat to back off and grab the closest thing I can find to corral the critter–an empty Ragu jar.
I misjudge the size and only succeed in pinning the bat by a wing.
I hold the jar tight over the bat with one hand as it writhes and gnashes its teeth and chitters and push cats away with my other hand. It starts to drool and leak all over the sill.
I scream for the big grand girl to come quick.
She screams that she won’t.
I scream to get out here now.
She comes, pulls a large bowl from cupboard and brings a new box of oatmeal to me. With one hand I pull off the top and dump the oats into the bowl. But I can’t figure how to safely exchange Ragu for Quaker.
I scream at the big grand girl to go upstairs and calm the screaming little grand girl–but to first bring my cell phone.
I call my husband and scream at him to get. home. quick.
Upstairs screaming continues.
Bat is very mad.
I feel sorry for the bat, but I am Grizzly Gramma.
I take a photo of the bat with cell phone and post to Facebook with one hand–Help. Me. Because this, of course, needs to be documented.
Twenty-five (!) minutes later, my husband skids up the driveway and runs downstairs for leather gloves.
Once he returns, we discuss options. He reaches into the drawer behind me and removes scissors . . .
The bat is finally deposited in oatmeal box.
The baby is fed another bottle.
The grand girl is calmed down enough to sleep.
Papa goes to bed and snores.
Loud.
Grizzly Gramma stands guard until 2:30 when she can no longer stay awake.
In the morning, I deliver the dead bat to Animal Control. I watch an officer come to the door and turn the sign to “closed.”
What?
I pound on the door.
Loud.
He opens it. I hand him my oatmeal box.
“What do you want us to do with that?”
“It’s a bat. It’s dead. I want you to get it tested. It was in my house. There was a sleeping baby in my house.”
We move on with life–until the Animal Control lady calls the following day.
“Oh hi,” I chirp. Because I know she’s going to tell me the bat was negative. It’s all good.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this…”
What?
My heart pounds.
Loud.
There are calls back and forth to the health department (to my ex-boss), veterinarian, doctor at the state level, and grand girls’ parents.
In the end we determine that it’s only the littlest grand girl that needs to undergo rabies prophylaxis because there’s not 100 percent certainty that the bat did not enter her room and bite her. The cats’ shots are up-to-date, and they only need boosters.
I sigh.
Loud.
In the not stillness,
Sandy
Note: The littlest grand began the injection series today. Piece of cake.
Five Minute Friday today becomes Ten Minute Friday.
Lisa Jo’s prompt this week was loud.
Yeow, what a night. This is brilliantly told – I could actually hear it all, including the note of panic in your voice at all times. Poor babies – every one of you. Sigh.
I knew I had to write about it. The prompt was perfect.
Grace has gone back to mom’s for tonight. She’s decided a random mouse is better than a bat.
Sandra–
“Bat very mad” . . . . . That’s when my smile turned into a laugh.
Great story, and some brave characters.
I’ll be back to visit again. Your blog looks like a wonderful place to hang out for awhile.
Blessings!
Anne
It’s all pretty funny looking back on it–except for Lil having to get shots.
Thanks, Anne!
Fabulous story! Well not fabulous that the little one has to take the medicine, but you told the story so well. I wrote two short paragraphs and you wrote on and on. The adrenaline must still have been flowing!
Well, Janet. This is a Five Minute Friday Fail. 😀 I don’t don’t know why I thought I could “document” it in five. 😀
there. are. no. words…..
😀 😀
I’m cracking up over here at the thought of the officer who sees you through the window coming up to the office with an oatmeal box… and he says to his side kick (Barney Fife)”watch this…” and he flips the Closed sign over… Riiiiiight. Like.THAT’S.Gonna.Stop.Sandy.
Oh, I can just see you pounding on the door! You’re lucky he didn’t unsnap his shirt pocket and pull out that one bullet. Or maybe he’s the lucky one… for opening the door. Your grand girls have the best Nama EVER!!
(I’m still laughing… with great compassion, though.)
p.s. how exactly were the scissors employed?
No kidding. I drove up, and there was this white sign on the door, and the place did not look open. I retrieved my little Meijer’s bag from the way back and then stopped to get a stick of gum from my purse in the back seat. I straighten up, and the fella is switching the sign around to CLOSED! So I run to the door and pound on it, stand there dancing. Then try to flag the attention of someone in a truck on the side–who ignores me. Then go back to the car to get my phone to call central dispatch (number on the door.) And then he comes back and flips the sign again–and walks away. I run back and pound on the door again. That’s when he came and unlocked it. Pretty funny.
As far as the scissors…I turned my head and closed my eyes. Then Dennis said, “You can let go now.” Somehow he managed to (oh, I hate to say this) snap its neck with a quick twist. Not a mark. Not a speck of blood.
My favorite part of this is that you had to post a picture to Facebook one handed.
Bat very mad. Indeed.
LOL. Some things just can’t be avoided. I don’t want to think what would have happened if I’d let go of that jar.
oh my gosh…………this was so funny. well, not really.
We’ve had fruit bats invade under our eaves every summer–they’re lovely at dusk. Can’t imagine one in my house.
Glad baby’s okay. You’re amazing, Sandy.
Very funny in retrospect–except for baby shots. Not so sure about amazing…
Seems like “organized chaos” in your home as the bat dramatically writhed and tried to get away from your grasp. I sure your grand girls will remember this night for a long time and realize how brave and protective you are. Of course,they will see the drama in this event and hopefully you have recovered and now sleep better at night. May the Lord continue to hold you in His hand and give you peace and rest after such an ardous adventure.
It didn’t seem very organized at the time, Kathy. 😉
I do draw the covers up close while my eyes dart around the room. We sleep in the same room–the one that used to belong to my daughter–the site of another bat escapade that involved Animal Control coming to our home to retrieve a bat that … long story. That bat tested negative.
oh, I have shivers….
and that photo is Incredible!
LOL, Deb. I just couldn’t bring myself to put the bat picture on the blog. 😉
That is really scary. One time this happened to my daughter and I closed the window with the bat in the screen. I tried to kill it with hornet spray. I succeed. We did not have the bat tested but Rachel is still alive and expecting my first grandchild in 3 days.
I’m so sorry it was a rabid bat and your grandchild has to get shots. Hope they don’t hurt too much.
I’ve seen people go frantic when they find a squirrel inside. Or a bird. Or a opossum. This is the first I’ve heard it involving a bat! I’m not surprised he was not very happy. But at least it had a happy ending for you.
~ VT