We've noticed a trend. Every year, we head to the beach for a week of calm. And every year, we return to some house/pet sitter screaming about a bat infestation. Wow. What can I say to a person who just removed three live bats, neatly folded in half, from underneath the cat food dish?
Last year, we changed our schedule. The bats returned right on schedule, and we found ourselves with a bat in the living room. Dave and I devised a plan. It involved him tapping the bat with a stick, ever so gently, and me chasing the bat down the hallway with a sheet to try and catch it, screaming all the way. I don't think the screaming was supposed to be part of the plan, but that's what happened. After a few tries, I caught the bat. Hurray for me! Then we scooted it toward the doorway. The only way for us to make sure it was safely outside seemed to be for me to seal off the doorway with the sheet and let poor Dave and the bat untangle themselves.
Now, don't get me wrong. We like the bats. We want to keep the bats. We love to watch them outside swooping down upon unsuspecting bugs. I'm all for natural pest control and there is a certain natural balance, a bug to bat ratio, that I'm pretty sure is a good thing.
But no bats in the house, please. So our goal this year is to establish a more suitable home for our flappy friends. Introducing our new Rubicon Bat House. It's made from 100% recycled plastic milk jugs, which is a double bonus for me because, boy, do we go through gallons of milk around here.
The hole is dug, the concrete is poured, the pole is planted, the bat house is hung, so now all we need to do is wait. Come, my little bow ties, come...