Spencer told me tonight that there was a bat in our kitchen. I was watching a movie high on Nyquil so it took me a few beats to completely grasp that we had a live bat in our kitchen.

I crept quietly into the kitchen and the bat was hanging upside down near our Tiffany lamp apparently sleeping. (Spencer later said he first thought it was one of my toy's hanging up there)

I phoned the Worcester Police, but they couldn't help me because they said an officer was already on a bat call across town on Salisbury Street. Great. So now what am I supposed to do? He suggested I call Animal Control.

Animal Control at least answered their phone, but happily told me that I was out of luck because they didn't provide emergency response service in the evening which leads me to wonder if all animal emergencies happen during the daytime? They were useless and essentially told me to keep the doors open in house so that perhaps the bat would fly out. But my bat is sleeping!

I opened the Yellow Pages and turned to the 'Pest' headings. I called the first four companies with the largest ads and all of them had answering machines. The fourth call was to a guy with an Auburn telephone number with a company name of Critter Control. Wayne answered his phone and I explained my dilemma.

He said, "Are you alone?" I'm thinking why does he need to know that? Have I somehow managed to contact a professional pervert? "No," I reply. "My husbands home with me and our dog." (Why I mentioned the dog was beyond me, but remember--I had great doses of Niquil in my system) "So why doesn't he take care of the bat?" asks Wayne of Critter Control. "I don't want my husband to get bitten by the bat." "Oh, so it's ok if 'ole Wayne gets bit then?" he laughs.

Without missing a beat, "Look Wayne, I'm paying you good money to come out to my house tonight to get this bat out of my kitchen so I guess that's the risk you gotta take."

Wayne shows up a half hour later in the batmobile. Seriously. His white pick-up truck had a bug guard with the saying, "Batman" stenciled across it. He walked in with a pair of leather gloves that our nations American Eagle could land on, an empty bottle of Gatorade and a big flashlight.

It took Wayne all of 5 seconds to pick the bat off the wall and deftly deposit the squeaking rodent into the empty bottle. Cost of service? Now get ready because this blows my mind.


I was so freaked out by the whole experience that I wrote him the check for $1, 350.00. "Wow, that's some tip." jokes Wayne. Huh? I'm not tipping this guy for 5 seconds of bat wrangling. He hands the check back to me and it sinks in that I wrote the check out incorrectly. So my bat guy was honest, too. What a superhero.

Aside from not having a butterfly net and all this 20/20 hindsight, next time there's a bat in my house I'm taking my friend Deb's advice and putting a paperbag over it. At least that's the plan.

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