Bat invasions

    In theory, I'm not afraid of bats, but in my house, well, that's a different story.  I was putting away the baby stroller tonight after dark, after the kids were in bed, and something swooped out of the trees lining my driveway and dove toward me, before zinging out of sight.  We have mosquitos the size of birds here <dramatization>, but I heard definite wing action and saw jerky movements - it had to be a bat.
    Thankfully, it's been a number of years since I had to deal with a bat up close, but I have several childhood memories of being too close for comfort, all while living in Pennsylvania. 
    The most recent, and least lively, was while in college, a bat somehow got into the apartment that I shared with my female roommate Angela.  The apartment was connected with the main house where our 4+ male roommates lived.  One of their windows was perpendicular to mine outside, so after being awoken to the flapping and turning on lights, we were able to yell to our roommate John, who came to our rescue. 
     The very first time was while living in Carlisle, PA.  It must have been around 1991 or so; my birthday is in December, but I was having a half-birthday party that year so we could have it at a pool (yes, very teenage girl of me, I know).  It was a hot and humid summer night, when I remember hearing my Mom yelling.  I was upstairs in my bedroom at the front of the house, my brothers each in their bedrooms upstairs, too; our parents and our baby sister had their rooms downstairs.  I remember thinking, even in the dark of that summer night "oh no, what did I do?", as I left my room, my brothers sleepily joining me at the railing overlooking the stairs.  Our mother was scratching and clawing as she tried shakily to climb the stairs, yelling "get her!" and "Go in!", my brothers and I staring at her blankly, no idea what she was talking about.  Finally she cried "Baaaat!", and seeing how freaked out she was, we were instantly scared, too, as she ushered us all into my bedroom (the only room in the house with a locking door, and my brothers' rooms had only vented bifold doors).  My Dad rushed into the room as we were closing the door, our sleeping sister in his arms, and we slammed the door closed and locked it (as if the bat could open or unlock a door...).  My Dad left the room to investigate, my Mom slamming it shut behind him and putting a towel along the bottom of the door.  My Mom filled us in on the story - they had been sleeping in their bed when she felt something brush her knee.  She thought maybe it was the curtain blowing from a breeze at the window, but there was no breeze and then she heard flapping.  My Dad flipped the ceiling light on, and sure enough, the black bunch was flapping right over the bed.  My Mom screamed, my Dad ducked and crawled out the door.  My Mom was frozen with fear, laying on the floor with the sheet over her head, crying, yelling.  My Dad told her she had to crawl out, and fast - he didn't want to open the door much further until she got over there, hoping to keep the bat in one place.  Unfortunately, when they left their room and moved the party upstairs to my room, the bat must have flown out under their bedroom door, because, as my Dad said when he returned to my room, he couldn't find it.  We ended up calling the police from the pink, teenage girlie phone in my room; at 3 a.m., animal control was, of course, not available.  After all was said and done, my Dad finished out the story for us - once the officer arrived, they found the bat in the bathroom.  They attempted to channel it out the open front door, both of them chasing and swinging badmitten rackets, my Dad in his boxer shorts and a skin-tight Hersheypark Tee that was mine, the Officer just as scared as my Mom had been, letting out a girlie scream that I liken to the burglar-tarantula scene in Home Alone, as the bat doubled back and flew at him - quite a funny mental picture that I have to this day.  The bat ended up flying into the screen at one of the kitchen windows, so they closed the window and were able to pull the screen out from the outside.  The bat got away the following night, but what an interesting memory of my first encounter with a bat.
        The second encounter was much more traumatic for me, and PETA supporters, I apologize in advance for my brutality.  It happened at the same house, probably the following year in the early summer, because it was much cooler that night.  We'd been away from the house all day, not sure where, and got home well after dark, turning in as soon as we got inside.  It wasn't long before we were awoken again.  This time, my Dad was calling my name from the hallway outside my bedroom.  My brother, Andrew, was standing in the hallway, too.  The light was on in his room, as well as in my youngest brother, Jeff's room, though Jeff was still sleeping in his bed, and my Dad seemed to be standing guard.  "Jenny, go get the shovel", he told me.  Andrew said sadly, tearily, "there's a bat in my room".  I ran down to the basement - trying not to look over to the unfinished side, which we referred to as "the bodies", dark, dirty, scary even in the middle of the day - but couldn't find the shovel where it should have been.  I remembered we had been using it in the compost bin out back, but it was even darker out there.  My heart raced as I went back upstairs, my knees shaking as I went out the back door, with the tiny dim light into the huge, open backyard; thankfully I could see the shovel sticking up from the ground.  I could hear barking or howling, as I ran the 8 yards to retrieve the shovel, which felt like miles, and raced back to the house, scared having my back to the dark night behind me.  Phew, inside, shovel in hand, safe.... except for the bat in my brothers room. 
        I ran back upstairs, where my Dad and brother were still in their same positions (I can't remember where my Mom and baby sister were).  My Dad took the shovel and held it in front of him, shovel end pointing upward.  I peeked into the room and saw a furry black ball handing on the tab-top part of the curtain.  I had actually never seen a bat before; this thing didn't look so bad.  "What are you gonna do?", I asked.  My Dad said he was hoping to flick it out the open window; it had apparently broken through the screen, which I could see was hanging out of the window, and thankfully didn't go far from there.  But, the de-batting plan didn't work out - as he flicked the bat, it floated for a second in mid-air, until my Dad caught it again, this time with the end of the shovel, pinning it partly between the top window trim and the glass itself.  Unfortunately, it wasn't a good position to do much of anything.  My Dad tried to let loose of the shovel a few times, but the bat would flap it's wings and make clicky, pitchy sounds.  Andrew was crying, I don't remember what Jeff was doing, I was just standing there.  I could tell my Dad was trying to figure this out, solve this puzzle.  He had me get a pillowcase ready, thinking perhaps that he could flick it into that to capture it.  But, every time he loosened the shovel, it seemed it was going to fly away, and pinning it again was getting harder because of the uneven surfaces of the window behind it; plus, it was probably feeling pretty threatened at this point, there was no way to know what it would do if it got free. 
      My Dad sighed long and hard; "Andrew, go get a hammer".  Andrew returned minutes later, with a hammer.  My Dad took it and tried to reach the bat, but with the long shovel handle, it was holding him at bay.  "Andrew, you're going to have to tap it...", my Dad started to say, but my brother cried out "No, Daddy, don't make me do it!", and he ran from the room... which left me.  I took the hammer in my right hand and slowly walked to the window.  The bat was pinned there under the shovel, all black but two little white-gray teeth sticking out and red on its body where it met the shovel.  I raised the hammer, not breathing, knowing I had to aim high to hit against the wood of the window and not the glass, hoping this would be over quickly.  I cocked the hammer and struck, not very hard because I was shaking so hard, so scared - the bat looked right at me and hissed, screeched a tiny sound, gave a flutter to it's wings.  Tears streamed down my face, as I hit it again...  I don't remember the next steps as they happened - I vaguely remember that the flapping didn't happen, the screech didn't come like it had before, my Dad was able to let loose of the shovel and put the bat into the pillowcase; I'm pretty sure it was dead.  My Dad squeezed my shoulders tightly, kissed me on the head, and left the room.  The sun was starting to rise as I went back to my room, light slowly filling the room, birds starting their songs outside our house, taking the skies back from nocturns.
       I will never forget the sound the bat made and the look that it gave me when I struck.  To this day, I always think back to this particular encounter every single time I see a bat, no matter how close the bat gets to me.  I think I did what had to be done that night, for that particular invasion, though I do feel sad that it happened that way.  What I can take from it is to remember to face my fears head on, stare it in the face, and squash it (sorry, Bat).  To put it lightly.  But really, I think I earned my fathers pride that night.