I performed yet another pas de deux with a bat early this morning. The first rule of bat removal is "remain calm." That's not so easy when the bat's flying around your head.
I flipped the light switch so the neighbors and those in passing vehicles could enjoy the show, before running, head down, towards the window. Grabbing the 2"x2" piece of lumber wedged between the window frame and the window, which prevents me from reentering my home when I lock myself out, I crouched and used my back and legs to yank at the window. The bat careened drunkenly through the house. As it continued its swooping irregular circles, the window finally gave way and slid open.
The little bat didn't want to leave. Armed with my wooden window-stop, I made it across the room, doing a fair impression of a baseball player who's recently taken up Japanese saber-fighting and still confuses the two. After closing the door behind me and waiting for my heart rate to decelerate, I peered out. No bat. Which means it either left through the open window . . . or landed somewhere.
I'm perfectly comfortable sleeping in leather gloves and dishtowel babushka. More importantly, since the second rule of bat removal is "talk to the bat," I'm practicing. I'll need to explain I was twirling that stick to warn it not to slam into the wall.