It was a sunny afternoon; the air was thin but cool and refreshing. I was sitting on my back porch, enjoying the songs of the birds about me and reading The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien, when suddenly my little sister ran out onto the back porch gasping, “Hunter, there’s a bat in the basement!”
I immediately go into problem-solving mode. What is my weapon of choice? How long has the bat been down there? Does it have rabies? Is it flying or nesting? Sneak attack or brutal assault? My options are endless.
I decide on a broom, figuring anything heavier would be to difficult to maneuver in the small quarters of our basement. Traveling downward into the ground to face this beast, I creep low to the ground, holding my broom at the ready. Surely enough, the bat is making figure eights through the three rooms that make up our basement. I wait for the right moment and WHACK! I strike the first blow. Alas! It still lives and is back for revenge, flying about my head as if this would drive me off.
It flies to the furthest room and nests there. After shaking off the fright induced by its “attack,” I creep again to the back room. Squatting in the doorway, I scan the beams that make up the ceiling along with all of the stone corners, and then I see it; it’s nesting quite comfortably in the far right corner of the room. I hold up my broom and very stealthily come up to it and WHACK! I hit it hard and it falls to the ground beneath a table.
“YES! VICTORY!” I exclaim. However, it was not so, for the bat flew out from under the table into my face and flew about my head much like a drunk driver in the air.
“NO! DEFEAT!” I exclaim in response despite the rapid beating of my heart. At this point I’m wondering why on earth I thought I would have the nerve to kill a bat. It circles me and tries to land in my hair and on my shoulders, but I keep it in sight and spin about like I’m on an out of control amusement ride, hoping that the nasty creature will soon be tired of tormenting me and fly into another room. To my great relief, it does, flying into the first room of the basement.
From a distance I see it fly wildly about and then I lose complete track of it for it stops and nests beyond my vision. I see Gracie (my sister) slowly coming down the stairs.
“Stop. I don’t know where it is.” I warn her.
“Well, then I’ll just go right back upstairs!” She climbs back up the stairs.
I creep from the back room to the front, once again performing a scanning ritual to see if I can spot its resting place. No fruit comes from my search. Realizing that I have been defeated, I sprint through the front room to the stairs and up to the ground floor.
Needless to say I did not make another attempt to kill the bat in the basement, and I am ashamed to say my nerve for battling such creatures has been shredded into unidentifiable pieces. I am, however, very grateful for the men in my life, specifically my father, who have the natural sense to use a tennis racket instead of a broom, and have the courage and nerve that I, as a woman, do not.
God was really thinking when He put Adam and Eve together. Adam chases away the bats and the spiders and Eve brings him sweet iced tea after he’s done. 🙂
Thank You, God, for the strong, Christian men in my life, who are knowledgeable and brave in areas that I am not and probably never will be. Thank You for their respect and their respectability. Without them, life would be incredibly boring and my basement would always be occupied by a bat.