Bats in the Belfry...

So I finally sit down on my couch, like 10:45 p.m., and snuggle in to watch the last 15 minutes of the Grey's Anatomy rerun, just so I don't forget too much about the show before the new season starts...

I hear a rustle...

I poke my head up and look for Hawthorne, who hasn't twitched in the least during this entire heat wave... He just sits on the couch right in front of the air-conditioner, tongue hanging out, all four legs spread like a compass...

I shrug, and...

Rustle, rustle... Bang, bang...

Hawthorne flips around and stares at the fireplace...

I stare at Hawthorne staring at the fireplace, and a burst of movement swivels my head just as Hawthorne takes a flying leap over me in pursuit of what I can only guess are the demons of hell busting forth from the depths of hell--through my fireplace... Quite appropriate, the nonhysterical part of my mind comments...

I scream like a 10-year-old girl while Meredith on the television argues with Izzie about decorating for Christmas...

I dash toward the fireplace and slam the beautiful wrought-iron cage closed. If you've ever seen a horror movie (or an episode of Scooby-Doo), you know there's always more than one... bats arrive by the hundreds and give you rabies, or suck your blood out, whichever they feel most like doing on any given night...

I wedge a chair up against the mesh to prevent any other Cujo-breeders from entering my now-shambled evening. I hear a crash. I whip around to see Hawthorne take a flying leap off the dining room table into the air as Dracula's clone spins in circles at my ceiling. Rich's star wars stuff goes crashing everywhere! I reach for Hawthorne's collar, but my foot catches on the edge of the chair which is preventing Armageddon, and I fall on top of a matchbox car inadvertently left under the table by one of my adorable nephews....

I stand up, rubbing the honda-civic shaped bruise that will be on my chest later and yell for Hawthorne to sit!

And amazingly, he does... until I turn around to open the front door...

Crash! I could care less now... I open the front door and prop the screen door open as well. I will heard this demon from beyond out of my life the good old-fashioned way.... except I don't have a butterfly net or Holy Water handy for emergencies just like this... I make a mental note to convert to Catholicism while trying to remember if I at least have a tennis racket...

Crash! Bang!

"Hawthorne, SIT!!!" He does... not.

He is now up on the sofa, paws on the walls, snapping at the vicious marauder of my peaceful night! While pondering if my dog could be part mountain-goat, I grab a pillow and toss it at the ceiling, hoping to drive short, dark, and not-so-handsome away from the doorway to the kitchen. I mean, there's a sheet hanging there to prevent the air-conditioning from leaving the comforts of my living room, and thankfully, it prevents bats from flying willy-nilly to the netherparts of my humble abode. The bat flies to every part of my living room except for the front door. The neighbors by now must be thinking I'm having the argument of the century with Rich, because all I keep shouting are "Get out of my house!" and "Watch out for that ____!!!" Being that no police ever showed up shows how much they care, I suppose...

I grab Hawthorne and douse the lights, thinking that this amazing sonar of theirs I always hear so much about may kick in and lead him toward the opening to the great outdoors....

But no such luck. I see him land on the sheet, hanging there. Not wanting to startle him, I whisper-shout "Sit! Stay!" to Hawthorne and reach for my T-shirt, hoping to net the little bastard and take him outside...

Hawthorne takes a flying leap at the sheet...

A lamp falls to the floor.

I hear Hawthorne yelping.

I turn on the lights and see the red sheet bouncing around with four little white legs scrambling for purchase on the hardwood floors...

I yank Hawthorne by his hind legs out form under the sheet and quickly bunch up the rest. I proceed to methodically feel the sheet, feeling for lumps, bones, or fangs....

Nothing....

I sense more than hear Hawthorne galloping up from behind me. I fall onto my belly to avoid his claws catching my head as he sails over me and onto the stairs, up to the second floor....

Oh, fuck me dry! I think as I see his white and tan-spotted tail disappear into utter blackness...

Fifteen minutes later, covered in cobwebs and carrying an overly-enthusiastic dog, I stumble down the stairs and seal the attic shut with the plywood boards.

The bat is still in my attic.

Hawthorne hasn't had a bath yet.

Rich worked third shift last night. He has no idea there's a bat in the house. I managed to rescue his toys from off the floor, and, from what I can tell, there's no damage done, thank goodness!

But I don't think I'll ever take my fireplace for granted again....

Because now, there are bats in my belfry...

And I have no idea how to get them out....

(Okay, so there's only one that I know of... I'm going for a moment here!)