So there I was, sitting at the dining room table writing the zillionth bereavement thank you note, when something on the floor caught my eye. It was moving, and I soon realized that it was a freaking bat. In December. Incredible.
I ran down to the basement to get a box. By the time I got back upstairs, the bat had crawled its way to the living room. I placed the box over it, and grabbed something heavy to put on top of the box. Then I called animal control.
Because the bat was exhibiting unusual behavior (slinking around on the floor), the animal warden agreed to come over to remove the creature. When she got here, I remarked that I thought bats were supposed to be in hibernation during this time of year. She assured me that that is the case, and observed that this bat might have been trapped in my house, and was perhaps dying of starvation (which could explain why it wasn't flying).
Yeah, right. I donít believe my bats are in hibernation. With my luck, I probably have an attic full of them, and they're in permanent residence and conspiring against me, no longer content to make my life a living hell just during the summer months. Now they are going to ruin winters for me, as well.