Bats

I scream like a girl.

Last night I was about to leave my room, likely to tell Hugh something as we were watching separate TV shows in separate rooms. Odd, that - the TV used to be a family thing, now we have so much choice we need multiple TVs.

I noticed a brown object by the door and wondered what the kids had left. I bent over to look and pick it up, and it started moving. It was very clearly a bat, opening its mouth and trying to scare me as it back frantically under the door back into my closet.

Note to young single women who think a husband is great for romance, southern travel, walks on the beach and other rare and wonderful things. A husband is for icky things. Dead mouse in the wall covered in maggots? Grain moth larvae dropping from the ceiling? Bat under your door? The automatic reaction for me is to scream Hugh! Hugh! Help!

In this instance, Hugh misinterpreted my words, although the tone did bring him in. He thought I said my back! My back! as I'd been painting, and it was wonky. A bat! A bat! I ran screaming downstairs as he searched for the tiny winged mammal. I came back up with the boys, who were extremely excited. My daughter remained in the basement, playing Wii with her friend Tyler.

The bat now lives in a small box, with a piece of apple and a sock from our extensive collection of single socks. What do you feed a bat in the Ottawa winter? Despite the plethora of wildlife invading our home periodically, none of it seems like bat food. Was it eating the grain moths?

Time to google bats. Unless it died of fright in its new home. At least I know what Hugh will be doing for the next few weeks - bat care. As long as he doesn't start raising insects to feed it, all will be well.