In the middle of the night LB (the cat for my new readers) unexpectedly jumped in bed and started making ominous figure 8’s with his nose.

With an uncharacteristic dread, I turned on the lamp and low and behold, a very quiet juvenile bat was flying above me. I’ve been through this many times now and the strategy is tried and true-- relocate the animals, sequester the bat, and encourage it to fly out an open window.

Zoe was fast asleep and getting her out of the bedroom without getting bonked by the bat was not easy. When I hied her away to safety, I re-entered the room and spent many hours watching the bat. He was alternating between chaotic flying and discrete naps without any awareness of the open window.

At 4am, it was time to armor up and shoo that sucker out of here.

I left the room and came back suited up like a ninja, but LB had beat me to it. The bat was on his back and flapping next to a streak of blood. He was trapped by gravity and no amount of effort was helping.

As freaked out as I was, I gently corralled the bat and took him outside. From a safe distance, I nudged him with a broom handle and flipped him onto his belly.

He blessedly flew off into the night.

I was wide awake at this point not only because of the adrenaline but also a deep recognition. How often am I on my back frantically flapping so close and yet so far from freedom?

Standing in the wee hours in August, hooded in my puffy coat, the bat was my cosmic broomstick. It’s time to stop flapping and start flying.

In the coming weeks, I look forward to sharing more with you about that.