Something brushed across my arm in the night.
Not my husband’s touch. After decades of marriage, my epidermis recognizes his epidermis, even when I sleep.
Please understand that as a five-year-old missionary kid, I once discovered a tarantula had invited himself to share my covers.
Now, decades later, I slowly wiggled my toes.
Nothing ate them. Whew!
I listened for unauthorized breathing. When our children were little, that sound on the wrong side of the bed indicated our son once again had escaped his crib.
Eventually I realized our son was pursuing a doctorate in Washington, D.C. Probably a safe bet that he wasn’t my brush with the unknown.
A burglar? But our stairs emitted loud cr-r-reaks. I had heard only a quiet swoo-oosh.
Now completely awake, I convinced myself I had dreamed it all.
Until … the next morning, when my no-nonsense husband said he had a similar dream.
That night, I crept up the stairs to our bedroom. A black, shapeless something hung from the fire alarm. I admit to letting refrigerator contents age into anti-matter, but had it been that long since we checked those batteries? Had they disintegrated to black goo?
The “goo” actually resembled a small, folded umbrella … until it shuddered.
Men do not understand why women who weep during puppy food commercials expect their husbands to take a flame thrower to all unwelcome home invaders, including burglars, germs and bats.
Finally, Steve persuaded me we could capture it. Armed with a laundry basket, a sheet and a fly swatter, we approached the bat, apparently a sound sleeper. I held the basket over the fire alarm as Steve tried to pry him loose. If Mr. Bat wasn’t a vampire, he certainly impersonated one well, with fierce, beady eyes and snarling white teeth.
My kindhearted husband finally detached him and slapped the sheet over the laundry basket. We carried him, hissing and flapping, outside and released him. Mr. Bat zoomed off into the blackness like a dark angel.
While I admit to a few bats in the belfry, I never expected to find one in our bedroom. If it happens again, we now have a plan.
I don’t think a laundry basket will work.
Have you ever shared your space with a bat? Or another unwelcome critter?