War of the Rodents, Part Next

Dear Bats,

I don't even know if you qualify as rodents, but it doesn't really matter. Perhaps I should have been more explicit in my previous communication. When I said "stay out of my stuff", I assumed you would understand that to mean ALL my stuff, as in not just my stuff in the attic, but inclusive of the main living part of the house. But we all know what assuming does . . .

Regardless, let this be fair warning. And the two of you who entered the interior my home and lived to tell about it (oh, and sorry about the little guy--I can only assume the cat was faster) , you can warn all your friends (just don't mention the part about me crying, and the protective hooded mumu. Oh, and the super long pole with the broom taped to it for added buffer, which, though possibly fearsome to a small creature, was mostly just ridiculous and a bit overkill--yeah, you don't have to mention that. Just tell them about the part where we threw your terrified little selves outside). You can warn them that their days inside my walls are numbered.

Yes, numbered.

I have been patient. More than patient I would say. The first breach was considered an accident. The second, I chalked up to an unfortnuate encounter between wandering infant bat and my house cat. But the third and final breach was the beginning of the end. I have listened to you scratching and squirming and squeaking in my office/bedroom wall for many months and I pretended you were some sort of loose ductwork, or occasional rodent. But no more. I am ignorant no more. Since you have chosen to show yourselves inside the confines of the interior of my home and squeak directly at me, I can no longer pretend the muffled sounds in my walls are anything else. I know you now. Shall we say, as the Spaniards do: There were a few, and then grandmother gave birth! I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I do know that I will be patient no longer. I'm all for live and let live, but certain boundaries must be established and maintained if we are to coexist in peace.

Your blatant disregard of social bat/human cohabitational norms has forced my hand. I may have mentioned previously that I don't know how to tackle you. But, I'm learning. And, more importantly, I have a new friend--Trapper Bob. Trapper Bob will be here in a couple of weeks to serve you your official eviction notice. You will then have approximately six weeks to move. This long notice is in respect of the important job you do (that of eating the mosquitos--although, could you step it up a little--we're itching here!) and the expectation that your little ones will continue the mosquito-eating tradition. Trapper Bob informs me that many of your wee ones in my walls cannot yet fly (though I suspect the little bugger I chased out the other night, given the location in which I found him, could likely fly, although I did not witness said flying as I flung him out the second story window into the darkness. I can only assume he swooped off to safety, but again, we all know about assuming). In that timeframe, Trapper Bob tells me that your children should be all grown up and able to fly their hairy little selves out of my walls.

As I said, I appreciate the vital role you play and invite you to continue living in my yard. Just not my house. You see, I never invited you into my living room, or kitchen, or bedroom, and yet you came anyway. I don't care whether this breach was for thrill, shock, fun, by accident or whatever. Regardless the intent, the line has been crossed and you are hereby uninvited from habitation within my walls, attic, roof, basement or any other portion of this human habitation.

However, as a token of goodwill, I plan to educate our family over the next few weeks about your habitat, your diet, and your lifecycle. Then we will either build or purchase a bat house and have it installed nearby. When Trapper Bob evicts you, we invite you to take up residence in said bat house, and leave my walls alone.

In the meantime--STAY OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!