I Am the Bat Man

At 4:45 this morning, I started dreaming about watching an epic race between two beautiful hawks. The majestic birds sat on a starting tree before being told to fly by a small Chinese man in a red cloak. When the Chinese man said, "Fly," the birds left their trees and flapped approximately 800 meters or so. It was a great race. After the race, they did not interview any of the hawks. Bob Costas made no commentary. Instead, my dream changed to coverage of an eagle race--then another hawk race. This dream was getting weird. Why would anyone race these birds? But instead of waking up, I just laid in bed with my eyes closed listening to the rapid flapping on wings.

At 4:50 this morning, I realized that under no circumstances would I ever dream about hawks and/or eagles racing. I also realized I was awake. I thought how unusual it was for my neighbors to be hosting bird races outside of my house at such an usual time in the morning.

At 4:52 this morning, I seriously wished I had a working cellphone, so I could call my neighbors and ask them to race their birds later in the day.

At 4:53 this morning, I realized my neighbors did not race birds. I then realized birds don't flap their wings nearly as fast as this bird did, even when racing. I also realized that even if my neighbors held an inexplicable bird race so early on a Sunday morning, the flapping of the wings wouldn't be nearly as loud as the flapping of the wings I currently heard.

At 4:54 this morning, I turned on my bedside lamp. My eyes adjusted. I saw a bat roughly the size of a closed fist flying frantically around my bedroom.

My only previous experience with a bat was when my friend Joey (now a lawyer) and I collected bugs for the "insect collection" project eighth grade science teachers make you do for no reason. Tired of drowning innocent grasshoppers inside a closed jar with various toxins, we lucked upon a bat sleeping in a corner outside of my childhood home. Joey decided he should try to get the bat in his jar and knock it out with ammonia. He could then pin down the bat on his insect board and probably get extra credit. That's how lawyers think. Joey naively approached the bat with a broom handle and an open jar full of ammonia. He planned to tap the bat with the broom handle. The bat would then slowly fall into the jar, and Joey would put the lid on the jar, suffocating the bat. I stood about three feet behind Joey. Joey walked up to the bat, tapped the bat, and watched as nothing happened. He tapped the bat again. Nothing. He jabbed hard at the bat. Something. The bat, furious, left his corner and dove at Joey, flew at me, and then left.

I also remember an episode of Friends when a bat or a rodent got into Monica and Rachel's apartment. They quickly got frying pans to try to trap the bat.

At 4:55 this morning, I drew on my past experiences. I shot out of bed wearing only my reindeer boxer shorts and ran to the living room. The bat continued to fly around the bedroom. My dog, who as a dog is supposed to dislike rodents and immediately try to kill them, looked up at the bat. She moved her head to track the bat's movements for about ten seconds before she realized she was tired and couldn't possibly get a bat out of the house. She put her head down and went back to sleep. I walked over to the closet and grabbed a broom. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a pan. Our big pan was dirty. I wanted to use a clean pan, so I grabbed our small pan. The bat then left the bedroom and flew towards the kitchen. I walked into the living room. The bat continued to flap around the kitchen.

At 4:56 this morning, I thought I'd go outside, still in my boxers, and ask my neighbors (who I figured were outside relaxing after their bird races) if they knew how to get a bat out of the house. I opened the door and went outside only to once again realize my neighbors were not out there. If they were out there, they probably wouldn't appreciate their portly neighbor walking out near nude to ask them a question. The fresh air made me realize the broom would serve no purpose. I went inside and traded the broom for a spray bottle of fragrant spray generally used for post-poo-purposes. My new plan was to spray the bat, confusing it, then hit it with a pan. The bat sensed this and dove at me. It's disgusting little face caused me to step to the side.

I wanted more fresh air, so I opened the door and stepped outside. I stood on my front porch wearing incorrectly seasoned boxer shorts and holding fragrant spray and a small, clean cooking pot. I decided I would charge into the house, spray the bat, and knock the bat out. I stepped into the house as the bat flew towards me. I quickly aimed the spray and pushed down the trigger. Direct hit! It turned out to be useless however as the bat flew out the door I held open, into the night, and out of my life.

At 4:57 this morning, I realized how smart I was to open the door and hope the bat flew outside on his own. That was my plan all along.

At 4:58 this morning, my dog glared at me as if to say, "Turn off the damn light and go to bed." I complied. I slept easy knowing that somewhere out there a pleasant smelling bat flew free.