The Daily Tannenbaum

I had a bat in my cottage Friday night. I got home past midnight, put my purse down on the kitchen table, turned on the light and saw the fucker hanging upside down from the Christmas lights in the kitchen. (When you live on a Christmas tree farm having lights up year round is practically mandatory.) The bat almost made me freak out completely, but it wasn’t flying around, and I didn’t want to disturb it with a freak out. Quickly but shakily, I closed the door to the bedroom and the living room then grabbed: my IKEA Vasen (it’s a vase with a really wide mouth,) a flat strainer, and a chair. Slowly but nervously, I positioned the chair below the bat, climbed on the chair, and covered the bat with the Vasen. I shook at it a little until the bat finally unstuck itself from the wire, and covered the vase with the flat strainer. Then, I took the entire operation outside. I placed the Vasen with the bat inside on the pathway and ran like hell inside.

When I recounted this epic to The Man of Action, he compared me to a brave Pioneer Woman. He didn’t think that he’d have the ability to get rid of a bat so calmly, and I wouldn’t have thought I would have either. I did what I had to do. It was too late to call a neighbor, Birmingham lives an hour away, my mother would probably freak out so loud the bat would hear the sonar distress coming from New Jersey, and I was frankly all alone. So, much like a woman fending her homestead from Injians and cyotes, I rid the house of vermin armed only with cheap Swedish glassware. I was actually quite proud of myself. Considering this was the first bat in 2 summers of living here, I figure I’m not due for another until 2009, by which time I will have moved on.

Then came last night.

Last night was a quiet night in. I made some dinner, watched a movie, and made to go to bed early so I could awake early and swim. I also had some delicious ice cream in there somewhere. When I was ready for sleep, I took my glasses off and put them next to the alarm clock, which is across the room. Then I got into bed and called Birmingham and had a nice chat. As soon as we were done, I took off my clothes, and reached for the light to turn it off when…

FLAP FLAP FLAP! FLAP FLAP FLAP!

A bat buzzes over my head. And what did this brave pioneer woman do? I screamed, covered my head with the blanket and shook from head to toe. From under there, I could hear it screeching and flapping. I poked my head out from under the covers, and it buzzed my head again, and I screamed, and dove back into the place I haven’t visited since getting over my fear of monsters in the closet. I was hoping my screams would send the neighbors running over, but then I worried that they assumed I was just having some kinky sex.

After a few minutes of peeking, flapping, screaming and hiding, it became too hot to remain under my shield of cotton. I poked my head out and finally saw no movement. In one fail swoop, I grabbed my shirt, my glasses, and the first weapon I could lay my hands on. Namely, Sandy Brown the Teddy Bear.

I knew that if I could make it downstairs safely, then I could get help, from either the neighbors, the landlesbian, or possibly federal marshals. I crept slowly, shielding myself with the bear because I worried about disturbing the bat and causing it to resume its evil, erratic flying pattern. Slowly, I transversed the bedroom, looking for signs of unwanted hangers-on in the rafters. Finding none, I used Sandy Brown like a shield in front of my face as I hesitantly made it downstairs. As soon as I got to my shoes, I threw them on and ran outside to the safety of all of the outdoors, which was nice until I realized that EVERY OTHER BAT IN THE WORLD LIVES HERE.

I scurried over to the neighbor’s door and they were still awake and able to help me. One of them had found a bat in her place before, and had a net and a glove ready to go! We asked her roommate, who moved in this week, to do the dirty work for us. He took the living on the farm initiation like a champ. Thanks to some helpful advice from my neighbor that the bats usually hang out in curtains, he found the animal, bagged it, and released it into the wild. I was very grateful. I must bake them cookies or something.

After they left, I was still shaking. I got back into bed, but even with the fan on, every little noise I heard startled me into wakefulness. This bat had attacked when I was at my most vulnerable: sightless, naked, and full of ice cream. After getting annoyed with the way I twitched at every pin drop, I decided to call Birmingham to help me calm down.

The problem was that I momentarily forgot that Birmingham has been sent to me to help me to remind me that I shouldn’t be needy. Like the opposite of that obnoxious “Footprints” poem. He kind of made fun of me for being scared. Then, he started telling me that it wasn’t so bad, and that I should pretend I’m BatGirl, living in the BatCave. Normally, that would sound like really unhelpful advice, but I shouldn’t be so hard on him. If there was one person in the world that he could be, real or fictional, it would be this guy:

Since I’ve got nowhere else to go, I think I’ll be spending tomorrow night sleeping in my car. It may be cramped, but thanks to the rubber strips that seal the windows, I know that there’s no flu, broken screen, or cracks in the 150 year old wood that can be used by wayward bats to disturb my slumber. Either that, or I’m sleeping with a knife under my pillow.