No sign of the bat. It's hiding. My landlady may or may not think I'm making things up. Looks like I'll have to go down at night and make some noise to try to get the bad boy out of hiding. Animal control better work 24 hrs.
Also, I did not mean for my last expostulation - "Where are the home teachers when I need them?" - to imply that they do not come when I need them. I just needed someone in the day club, and Jay fit that bill.
Dumb bat.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Addendum, Courtesy of Animal Control
The following is found on the Arlington County Animal Control website:
Problems I have with this statement:
1. It is winter. This bat clearly is not hibernating.
2. I'm not sure where the opening is in our basement but I'm not about to put ammonia down there to "drive the bat out." It would drive all of us roommates out as well.
3. Have they ever been in a room with a flapping bat? Don't panic? Right. Check.
4. "Bats eat insects, not people." Sure thing. Rabies, anyone?
And don't worry - they just told me that I have to go in the basement, spot it AGAIN, and then call them and they'll be right over. AND THEN told me not to touch it because bats carry rabies. Sick. Gross. Where are my home teachers when I need them? Bless Jay for coming to the rescue. More later...
Bats hibernate in winter, and their young are born April-July. They cannot gnaw or dig, relying instead on existing openings to enter buildings. Actual damage is minor, mainly stains and odor from feces and urine. Ammonia will drive them out of the attic. If a bat is flying inside the house, don't panic. Try to isolate it in one room and call the League for assistance. Do not touch it. Remember, bats eat insects, not people.
Problems I have with this statement:
1. It is winter. This bat clearly is not hibernating.
2. I'm not sure where the opening is in our basement but I'm not about to put ammonia down there to "drive the bat out." It would drive all of us roommates out as well.
3. Have they ever been in a room with a flapping bat? Don't panic? Right. Check.
4. "Bats eat insects, not people." Sure thing. Rabies, anyone?
And don't worry - they just told me that I have to go in the basement, spot it AGAIN, and then call them and they'll be right over. AND THEN told me not to touch it because bats carry rabies. Sick. Gross. Where are my home teachers when I need them? Bless Jay for coming to the rescue. More later...
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Night That Nearly Rendered Necessary "Julie Bradshaw's Taco Tuesday DC Memorial DDR Rabies Awareness Marathon Fun Run Race for the Cure"
So, tonight as we sat around the Taco Tuesday table, I thought how very tame our dinner was and how nothing untoward had really happened over the past week. I had frustrations at work (like always), a Jane Austen sleepover with Stephanie (and friends), and attended President Hinckley's funeral. All very noteworthy events, but nothing that really stuck out to me. Earlier today I considered taking a cue from President Hinckley's funeral and writing about Grandma Willardson's funeral ("she's going down!"), and had already started formulating my story as I drove home tonight, when the night got interesting.
A boy called. One who had spurned me not long ago but still wanted to be friends. [pause] Right. I of course sent him to voicemail as I thought, "Oh yes, he has given me the perfect story for TTC." I was all set. But then, the night took another ugly, hairy turn, pushing this story to the #2 spot in the queue and Grandma back to #3.
Katie and I decided to do a little post-Taco Tuesday ("TT") Dance Dance Revolution before we parted ways for the evening. For Christmas, my bosses just handed me money and told me to buy my own Christmas present, so I splurged on a PS2 and DDR dance pads. Katie and I have passed some cold winter nights playing DDR, and since I wasn't feeling up to going to the pool tonight, this was to be my evening's exercise.
We made our way down to the basement, pulled out the DDR mats and limbered up. We decided that we could spend an hour down there. Now, let me paint a picture of our surroundings. Our basement is unfinished, but we have dedicated half of it to a home gym and put down gym matting with some weights, a TV and DVD player, and, now, the PS2. About two weeks ago I was in our home gym doing some pilates and, while trying to hold a core position, saw something fly over my head. I could have sworn it was a bat and I told my roommates and landlady as much, but when my hometeacher came over to investigate we couldn't find anything. I chalked it up to my imagination and fear of dark corners and have tried not to think much about it since. However, my landlady called last night to see if we had heard anything more from the bat. I was getting ready to call her back and give her the "all clear," when the following happened.
Tonight. Me, Katie, DDR. We were halfway through our second song, just getting slaughtered by a tricky techno beat, when all of a sudden we heard - you guessed it - flapping. I turned around just in time to see a giant bat whiz over my head. And thus comes this week's Taco Tuesday Confession:
I, Julie Bradshaw, screamed like a girl.
This was no ordinary scream. It was a scream such that I've never allowed to escape my throat before. Even worse, I had no control whatsoever over my vocal cords. I continued to scream involuntarily as I laid flat out on the gym matting, face down, arms tucked up against my face and chin, body stiff as a board. That's right, Office watchers: I looked exactly like Angela and sounded exactly like Kelly from the bat episode, Season 3, Episode 16. Katie was also screaming, just as loudly as I was, and had curled up in a little ball as close as she could get to me. We continued to scream, getting louder each time the bat whooshed over our heads; it kept circling and circling around the staircase, flying under and over, effectively cutting off our one avenue of escape with its hairy, brown body and leather wings. Its wing span was much longer than my last sighting, which convinced me that we were seeing either Mama or Papa Bat and that one or the other, as well as Baby Bat, weren't too far away. My nerves couldn't take the thought of an impending family attack, and I yelled, "I'm getting out of here!" and jumped up, running blindly up the basement stairs, screaming all the way. Katie jumped up and managed to get out a, "Hey! Don't leave without me," amidst her own screams. We clamoured up the stairs, emerging at the top on our hands and knees and slammed the door shut. Sprawled in the hallway, breathing heavy and still screaming softly, I army-crawled into my roommate Kate's room and yelled, "The BAT is BACK!" Kate's reaction: shock (as she observed the wild panic in our eyes), followed by some expostulation of disbelief. Once Katie and I caught our breath we were composed enough to tell Kate all the gory details.
Sharri came home not two minutes after the incident and joined the house council in the hallway. We had to figure out what to do; the DDR game was still playing at full volume, all the lights were still on, and Katie's sweatshirt was still down there. "What are we going to do?" was the question of the night. The consensus was, "Call animal control."
But wait.
If Dwight Schrute was here, he wouldn't wait for animal control, and fact of the matter was, we couldn't; there was no way we would be able to sleep with techno music bumping in the basement all night long. There was only one thing to do. I grabbed my coat, put it over my head (a-la-Stanley), and went downstairs. The door was shut behind me with the promise that if I screamed it would be opened as soon as I hit the top of the stairs. With that comfort, I formulated a plan: First, get the TV off. Second, get Katie's sweatshirt. Third, turn off the lights. I crouched as low as I could go and made my way down the stairs. No sign of the nasty, hairy, rabid beast. I crossed the basement. TV off. Check. Katie's sweatshirt tossd up the staircase (where it was retrieved by the door guardian). Check. All that was left were the lights.
The first time I saw the bat, it came from the corner where the first light chord was dangling. I was afraid to approach a known hiding place. I tentatively reached up, pulled and waited, cringing into my coat. No flapping. Relieved, I ran to the second one, tugged emphatically and bolted up the stairs (this time not being dumb enough to wait to hear flapping sounds), finally flipping the last light switch off at the top of the stairs and slamming the door behind me. Redemption was mine.
Now I will call animal control.
A boy called. One who had spurned me not long ago but still wanted to be friends. [pause] Right. I of course sent him to voicemail as I thought, "Oh yes, he has given me the perfect story for TTC." I was all set. But then, the night took another ugly, hairy turn, pushing this story to the #2 spot in the queue and Grandma back to #3.
Katie and I decided to do a little post-Taco Tuesday ("TT") Dance Dance Revolution before we parted ways for the evening. For Christmas, my bosses just handed me money and told me to buy my own Christmas present, so I splurged on a PS2 and DDR dance pads. Katie and I have passed some cold winter nights playing DDR, and since I wasn't feeling up to going to the pool tonight, this was to be my evening's exercise.
We made our way down to the basement, pulled out the DDR mats and limbered up. We decided that we could spend an hour down there. Now, let me paint a picture of our surroundings. Our basement is unfinished, but we have dedicated half of it to a home gym and put down gym matting with some weights, a TV and DVD player, and, now, the PS2. About two weeks ago I was in our home gym doing some pilates and, while trying to hold a core position, saw something fly over my head. I could have sworn it was a bat and I told my roommates and landlady as much, but when my hometeacher came over to investigate we couldn't find anything. I chalked it up to my imagination and fear of dark corners and have tried not to think much about it since. However, my landlady called last night to see if we had heard anything more from the bat. I was getting ready to call her back and give her the "all clear," when the following happened.
Tonight. Me, Katie, DDR. We were halfway through our second song, just getting slaughtered by a tricky techno beat, when all of a sudden we heard - you guessed it - flapping. I turned around just in time to see a giant bat whiz over my head. And thus comes this week's Taco Tuesday Confession:
I, Julie Bradshaw, screamed like a girl.
This was no ordinary scream. It was a scream such that I've never allowed to escape my throat before. Even worse, I had no control whatsoever over my vocal cords. I continued to scream involuntarily as I laid flat out on the gym matting, face down, arms tucked up against my face and chin, body stiff as a board. That's right, Office watchers: I looked exactly like Angela and sounded exactly like Kelly from the bat episode, Season 3, Episode 16. Katie was also screaming, just as loudly as I was, and had curled up in a little ball as close as she could get to me. We continued to scream, getting louder each time the bat whooshed over our heads; it kept circling and circling around the staircase, flying under and over, effectively cutting off our one avenue of escape with its hairy, brown body and leather wings. Its wing span was much longer than my last sighting, which convinced me that we were seeing either Mama or Papa Bat and that one or the other, as well as Baby Bat, weren't too far away. My nerves couldn't take the thought of an impending family attack, and I yelled, "I'm getting out of here!" and jumped up, running blindly up the basement stairs, screaming all the way. Katie jumped up and managed to get out a, "Hey! Don't leave without me," amidst her own screams. We clamoured up the stairs, emerging at the top on our hands and knees and slammed the door shut. Sprawled in the hallway, breathing heavy and still screaming softly, I army-crawled into my roommate Kate's room and yelled, "The BAT is BACK!" Kate's reaction: shock (as she observed the wild panic in our eyes), followed by some expostulation of disbelief. Once Katie and I caught our breath we were composed enough to tell Kate all the gory details.
Sharri came home not two minutes after the incident and joined the house council in the hallway. We had to figure out what to do; the DDR game was still playing at full volume, all the lights were still on, and Katie's sweatshirt was still down there. "What are we going to do?" was the question of the night. The consensus was, "Call animal control."
But wait.
If Dwight Schrute was here, he wouldn't wait for animal control, and fact of the matter was, we couldn't; there was no way we would be able to sleep with techno music bumping in the basement all night long. There was only one thing to do. I grabbed my coat, put it over my head (a-la-Stanley), and went downstairs. The door was shut behind me with the promise that if I screamed it would be opened as soon as I hit the top of the stairs. With that comfort, I formulated a plan: First, get the TV off. Second, get Katie's sweatshirt. Third, turn off the lights. I crouched as low as I could go and made my way down the stairs. No sign of the nasty, hairy, rabid beast. I crossed the basement. TV off. Check. Katie's sweatshirt tossd up the staircase (where it was retrieved by the door guardian). Check. All that was left were the lights.
The first time I saw the bat, it came from the corner where the first light chord was dangling. I was afraid to approach a known hiding place. I tentatively reached up, pulled and waited, cringing into my coat. No flapping. Relieved, I ran to the second one, tugged emphatically and bolted up the stairs (this time not being dumb enough to wait to hear flapping sounds), finally flipping the last light switch off at the top of the stairs and slamming the door behind me. Redemption was mine.
Now I will call animal control.
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