Bats in my Belfry

Dear lord, we just survived a bat attack.

There I was, hanging out in the kitchen, mixing up a delicious salad dressing, minding my own business. When, suddenly…. FWOOM! ZOOM! Assorted other batman-like onomatopoeia! There was a bat flying around our kitchen.

Apparently, I am terrified of bats.

Who could blame me? Bats can give you rabies. Or turn you into a vampire. And not the cool, sparkle in the sunlight, make all the ladies swoon, hot Twilight kind of vampire. No no no. The decrepit old Bela Lugosi style vampire. And I’m too pretty to never see my reflection again.

So, I did what any smart, bat-fearing girl would do. I screamed like a frightened six-year-old, dove into the bathroom and told Kristian to “Get rid of that damn thing before it bites you and turns you into a rabid vampire.” And then I brandished our kitchen broom for protection.

Hey, I take care of all of the spider removal in our house. It was the least he could do.

That little fucker took a grand tour of our house, stopping to admire our basement, take in all of the sights on our first floor and head up to our bedroom where he then hung off of my chin-up bar. As if I already didn’t have enough excuses to not exercise, that little blood-sucker covered by beloved (albeit badly neglected) piece of equipment with his slimy little bat cooties.

Someone should tell him. Chin-up bars are for people. The business end of our kitchen broom is for bats.

Kristian said that the chin-up bar part was awesome and that he wishes that he could have taken a picture of it. But how was he to take a picture when he was supposed to be smashing it into LITTLE TINY BAT PIECES?!!?

The good news is, Kristian chased him out of our house. The bad news is, I’m now going to be having bat-themed nightmares.

I can see it swooping around our neighborhood. Making batty little plans to get back in and renew the terror. Biding its time. Being all creepy and bat-like.

Did I mention that he flew right into one of our cats? Would it have killed her to bite its stupid little head off, Ozzy Osbourne style? Is she now going to turn into a rabid cat-vampire, a la Bunnicula? Will I ever let her sleep on our bed again?

I always did prefer Superman.