Bats in the Belfry

[Icebat--not my bat]

And no, I am not referring to my recent decision to go see Chris Cornell at the historic Paramount Theatre in Seattle on October 3--though that certainly may fall under the same heading.

I am, in fact, referring to my new occupant in the attic, who made a surprise (and I don't think I can emphasize the word "surprise" here strongly enough) appearance this noon hour when I went up to turn on the window fan. I had already adjusted the fan and was examining the floor in search of stray nails from the roofing job when I took a few steps towards the windows, just enjoying the solitude that normally comes with being in one's 90 year-old attic. "Why do I come to my attic?" I was musing to myself. "Because no one knows I am here and it is so peacefu..." Right at this time a bat the size of a small pterodactyl came swooping down erratically into the interior space of the attic from the newly-installed vents.

Trying to keep in mind that I was a zoology major with an inherent love for animals, I tried to focus on the wild blur to see if it was a cute and cuddly sparrow or truly a bat.

Truly, a bat. And truly, it seemed to fly in one ear and out the other. I was ducking and squealing (which I'm sure it enjoyed) as I made my way towards the steps, which I knew were a very quick path towards a broken leg if I took them at a run. I never stopped moving, but I swear that environmentally-friendly creature has a wingspan of 12 inches. It was fucking huge!

The dogs were barking by this time, but were also smart enough to do it from the bottom of the stairs. Whatever I was experiencing, it didn't sound to them like it was something they wanted to get involved in. I stopped at the top step and paused, turning to make sure it wasn't following me. I saw it alight at the apex of the ceiling, by the vent, but I couldn't make it out very well due to the bad lighting. I took my cue and carefully descended the spiral staircase into my office, where I think my dogs were disappointed to see me emerge empty-handed.

My heart is still in my throat. I spent my entire lunch hour reminding myself that animals don't scare me. Animals have never scared me. Perhaps I was merely startled. Right.

And now what? Do I call the roofer and blame him for installing bat doors in my attic? Do I shut Ginger's cat up there with it and see who comes out after 24 hours? Do I call my accountant and ask for a bat tax write-off? Or do I just sell my attic and go see the Foo Fighters in Brighton, U.K.?

How much can one get for used attics these days? And I won't charge you for the bat...