In a conversation with Deb last night, I found that apparently there have always been an abundance of bats in this house. She and her family would gather at dusk in the summer to watch the bats fly from the attic.
The bat that bothered us two nights ago did not take the open window out. He was back again last night. This time he flew around the upstairs hall and then flew downstairs. Brian followed him; I stayed in bed. I listened:
Whump. Whump. “Sh*t!” Thump. “Auugh!”
B came up every so often to give me the latest: “He’s in the bathroom.” or “I can’t get him–he’s too quick.” He must have tired the bat out in the chase, because finally he hung himself in his upside-down batwardly fashion on the shower curtain, and B was able to slide him into a big empty clear-plastic pretzel barrel.
He brought him upstairs to show me, and the thing looked like a frightened field mouse. Sooo small and hardly harmless. He took him outside and let him go.
While we ran this morning, Deb said, “You know, he’ll just come back in.” Well, B is a season bat-catcher now, so I’m not worried.