This morning at 3am, Cooper woke me up by “woof”-ing repeatedly. I was annoyed and shushed him, and he wasn’t having any of that. It was overly hot in the bedroom, so I got up and cracked a window in the hallway, hoping to get some air into the apartment and see if I could figure out what he was responding to.
As I turned to walk back into the room, a dark shape wriggled its way out of my hallway closet with a “whrrr” that sounded like a giant lunar moth, and flew directly into the bedroom.
Yep, you guessed it: a bat.
Once I had a moment to recover from the surprise, it was time to deal with the very real situation of a bat in the bedroom. We turned on the lights, opened the window, and did our best to keep out of the range of its darting and diving around the room. I’m not afraid of bats; I am afraid of rabies, and there’s no good way to know if a bat that has emerged horror-movie-style from my hall closet has simply lost its way or is seriously ill.
Fortunately, after googling the best way to handle the situation (and after a fair amount of swearing, ducking, and gently batting pillows at the bat), he/she realized there was a huge open window and darted outside to freedom. No harm, no foul, and now the little guy is free to go about its business of ridding my backyard of mosquitos and other jerk bugs that want my blood.
Bats are pretty cute when they’re not scaring the life out of me out of a dead sleep. I’m glad I got a good look at this one before escorting it to freedom. Ideally, this is the last time I’ll have the honor, as I’m sure that bats would prefer to stay outdoors as much as I’d prefer them to stay outdoors.