Bats in the Belfry: Redux...

So, this is how things have been going...

The next afternoon when I got home from work, I mentioned to Rich about the unearthly demon who had invaded are home and possessed our dog into some type of manic frenzy (leaving out the part where the dog takes flying leaps from the dining room table scattering much-beloved 70s and 80s era toys...). His response? Ha! Laughter, yes, dear sweet laughter.

This same afternoon, our dryer decides it needs a long vacation form the dreary world of tumble-the-cotton monotony, so what do we decide? After three days of not being able to dry our clothes in a more traditional method due to thunderous clouds and rain, be decide, It's hot in the attic--let's hang the clothes up there!

So I grab some rope and a flashlight (Or, if your my father, you pronounce this flesh-lit), move some stuff around to create an open area, keeping an eye out for Satan incarnate, and strung some rope around the place... I also take down the ratty curtains hanging in the windows to let in some natural light (while also hoping Batty Batterson will burst into flame at the touch) and open the windows with much pushing, grunting, and an amount of testosterone normally required for convincing drunk elephants to stand up and walk home...

Rich brings up the hamper, dripping with water, and we begin the hanging process...

Whoooosssshhhhhh!!!!

I duck for cover behind an old cardboard wardrobe left behind by previous owners (and incidentally reminding me of that Malcolm in the Middle episode where the hundreds of "bow-ties" fly into their house...). Rich cries, "What was that?!" Hawthorne answers gleefully with a bark and a growl, and off they go, pulling down clean laundry and string every step of the way.

And you thought catching a bat in a full-ceilinged living room was easy? Try a cape cods second floor where you can barely stand up straight in the center of the ceiling surrounded by boxes filled with "collectibles" from a certain someone's neurotic childhood (read: Rich).

I begin the process once again of yelling for Hawthorne to take a chill pill (Umm, yeah, I said chill pill, what's it to you?), quite ineffectively I might add. Rich takes one of the old towels and tries "wafting" it over Batty as he flies by, also ineffectively...

As we're banging into boxes with Rich trying to hover over them protectively, Hawthorne takes a flying leap--





He's got the bat! He's got the bat!


But, much like the time he caught the mouse in our kitchen, as soon as it wiggled in his mouth, he releases it with a puzzled expression on his face...

And Batty flies directly out of the open window...

We all trade looks, and I'm sure we're all thinking, Why the hell didn't he just fly out in the first place?

But then again, my blog would have less fodder, wouldn't it?

I'd like to thank you all for your thoughts and comments when the fiasco began, but it seems like e didn't need traps, bait, or a hole in the roof via my father's rifles to rid ourselves of our demon...

Just a window, and a dog who doesn't like to eat things that wiggle...

As a side note, the dryer won't be fixed until the sixteenth. We rewashed the clothes and hung them in the attic once again, this time to much less drama, I'm happy to report...

And, being that I didn't need the holy water after all, I won't be converting to Catholicism...