The old bat in the bedroom

Mrs B sat up in bed, reading one of her favourite murder stories. I’m not sure if it’s her love of crime fiction or endless search for the perfect way to murder me that keeps her fascinated with these books.

Either way, she enjoys a good detective yarn, so I took my time preparing to climb in beside her.

It was a warm summer evening, and the windows were wide open.

Suddenly Mrs B makes an interesting observation: ‘That bat seems very close to the

window.’

I look up.

‘Yep, it is.’ I watch it for a moment ‘And that’s mainly because it’s in the room.’

Oh my, oh my. She can move can Mrs B. With a brief shriek she’s disappeared – like a bat

out of hell. And now there’s a whimpering lump under the duvet as the visitor uses

echolocation to circle above.

I’m still sitting on the edge of the bed. Thankfully, bats can’t see, so this one is completely

unaware I’m naked. (I apologise. Readers of a nervous disposition may find this information unnecessary.)

It’s an interesting challenge though, my first naked bat encounter. Well, indoors, at least.

Occasionally, we sit in the garden at dusk and watch them emerge to search for dinner. But on those occasions, I’m usually fully clothed.

If you ever have to catch a bat, I must warn you they are difficult. I discovered that after a couple of vague attempts with my shirt. Immediately, I’m fresh out of ideas.

‘Has it gone?’ asks a voice.

I presume it’s Mrs B and not the bat. ‘Not yet. I’m working on it.’ I sound confident.

Suddenly, the bat has left the bedroom, but sadly not the building. I follow it out on to the

landing, ducking each time it passes near my head. It circles me every two seconds and I

really wish I wasn’t as tall as I am. An earful of bat is not my idea of fun. The alternative

though is an earful from Mrs B, so, in a moment of sheer inspiration, I throw open the door to another bedroom and rush in. I lurch towards the window, which I frantically open. The bat follows me into the room.

I think it’s hunting me. I try not to panic and quickly double back to the landing, pulling the door shut again. The bat now has the guest room for the night.

Triumphantly, I wander back into our bedroom. Mrs B is still taking cover under the duvet.

‘You can come out now.’

‘Has it gone?’ Her muffled voice sounds doubtful.

‘Not yet. I offered the guest room for the night – it seemed happy to accept the invitation. I’ve opened the windows so it can leave anytime. Hopefully, it’ll check out just before dawn.’

A corner of Mrs B’s face appears under the edge of the duvet. ‘What if it doesn’t go?’

I shrug. ‘Bat shit, most probably. Lots of it.’

She looked up at me, aghast. ‘That’s all you can say?’

‘Well, I’m not really expert enough to provide much more detail, I’m afraid. But as far as the shit’s concerned - everywhere, I should think.’ I smile at her. ‘There again, the bat could hang around all day.’

I can tell by the look on her face, she doesn’t think it’s funny.

When dawn comes, I slowly open the guest room door. There’s no sign of the bat. By some miracle, the room is unscathed and unsoiled. The mammal has flown.

I take the news to Mrs B. ‘The old bat’s gone,’ I declare.

‘No shit?’

‘No love, honestly, it’s gone.’