Bat Man

Natural modesty has, heretofore, prevented me from relating the heroic struggle that took place a year or so ago. My daughters, however, have prevailed upon me to recount the events as best I can for the sake of family posterity. Friday, May 10 was a rainy night; My wife and I had just driven to our in-laws for the weekend. After a brief visit, we said our goodnights and were retiring to one of the upstairs bedrooms. After finishing my nightly ablutions, I was tucked under the covers and asleep when my spouse let out a screen that just about took the plaque off my teeth. There, flying around the room, was a bat. As my spouse cowered under the covers, I quickly and calmly sized up the situation. I estimated the creature to have a wingspan of around three feet (other witnesses have, for some reason, chosen to provide more conservative estimates --five inches or so). Wasting no time, I sprang from the warmth of my bed, and grabbed the only weapon at my disposal: my blue jeans, which were lying on a chair next to the bed. Clad only in my jockey shorts and with no regard for my personal safety, I gauged the movements of the cunning beast with geometric precision and waived my trousers at the bat in very much the manner of a seasoned matador. I made several such passes, getting closer with each expertly measured lunge. Just when it seemed I was about to finally make contact, I knocked over a table lamp and temporarily lost track of the monster. Thinking I had at least cornered my prey, I threw a blanket over the area where I thought I saw him land. After giving comfort and assurance to my frightened wife that we were at least safe for the night, I thought the battle over until morning. Such was not the case, however. From the downstairs, my mother-in-law voiced a cry not unlike her daughter’s and with a similar message: The bat was now in my in-laws’ bedroom. I immediately raced downstairs (having the presence of mind to don my trousers first) and watched as the bat flew into the music room which I immediately locked. I then went to bed, content to commence the battle on the morrow. The next day, I made several hurried visits to the room and concluded that the bat had made its way out of the house. However, in the afternoon, as I was playing the piano, I heard the unmistakable scratching of claw and wing behind a picture above the piano. Moving with grace and stealth, I took my adversary by complete surprise and proceeded to exert enough pressure on the painting to immobilize the crafty chiropter long enough for me to extract him from his hiding place with a pair of ordinary kitchen tongs. As the rest of the family swooned over my heroics, I flung the bat out into the yard. Instead of flying away, however, he fell limply to the earth, his injuries, apparently fatal. Not wanting the poor wretch to suffer anymore, I rolled over him with 2200 pounds of Toyota Camry and ushered him into eternity.