Going Batty

So, Thursday night Molly and I were sorting through the accumulated junk mail and magazines that pile up under the silly notion that they'll actually get read, and I had the bright idea to bring inside the recycle bin for easy disposal. As we sat in the parsonage entryway sorting, I felt something breeze by my face. From a distance it looked like a large moth -- oh, how I hoped it was just that! -- how I hoped it was anything other than what it was. A bat. In the house. Wildly flying, swooping, crazy as, well, a bat. And the cat had flipped into a gear I never knew capable.

Let me say that Molly and I don't readily fall into typical gender-role expectations in our marriage. That whole PromiseKeepers-the-man-is-the-spiritual-head-of-the-household ethic is wholly lost on us. We tag-team most every responsibility in our life -- we're each as likely as the other to cook supper, wash dishes, or bathe the kids. But there are some things we each are exclusively in charge 0f: when it comes to wiring electronics, it's her domain. And for as long as we've been married, my duty has been to kill the bugs.

I guess flying creatures in the house fall into the bug category, because despite momentarily wanting not to be the male of the house, as Molly bunkered herself downstairs, there was no doubt bat patrol was my duty! While I went in search of a murder weapon, Molly had the good sense to call cousin, friend, and church Trustee, Ted. I don't know what she said to him or Ruth when whoever answered, but he arrived instantly with a box and his typically-unflappable demeanor, willing to take a role in this two-person comedy. By now the cat having cornered the bat into the guest bedroom (thank God it hadn't flown in either girls' bedroom -- each having been tucked in but neither yet asleep) -- the jumps and hisses and bounces of the cat off the guest room walls were clearly audible from my post outside the closed door. Ted quickly entered and closed the door behind him, and managed to get the old, rickety screen out of the window in hopes of herding the bat outside.

Quickly, the bat and cat both disappeared. Worried the indoor-only cat had used this moment to jettison the open second-story window to freedom, I entered the room. All in one instant, Ted found the cat cowering in the closet and I screamed as the bat flew out of nowhere at my face. While I am blind in one eye and thus have no depth perception, I took a mighty swing and hit the bat with the sweet-spot of my broom. Ted's intentions of humanely trapping and releasing the bat proved futile. He had witnessed his pastor commit a murder on church property.

After scooping and tossing the deceased out the still-open window and profusely thanking Ted, I bounded down the stairs with my heart still pounding. My Dad would later help me thoroughly inspect the basement and attic for any of the bat's cousins who might bear a grudge (we would subsequently assume the bat entered the house via the recycle bin I foolishly brought inside), but in that moment all I could think of was my accomplishment. For a moment, my bravery girded by Ted's presence and help, I felt like the man of the house. I flexed and strutted like a peacock. I pounded my chest and probably asked Molly to fix me some meat. Her own adrenaline rushing, once she caught her breath, Molly reminded me that when I screamed, I screamed like a girl.

That's how it is in our marriage. She lets me get away with nothing. That part of her always willing to humble me she gets from her Dad. He heard the great-bat-caper story second-hand, but the picture in his mind's eye was vivid nonetheless. Apparently, he spent the better part of his Saturday preparing a roast of me and the bat -- and pasted it on my Facebook profile. So well written it was, I briefly, erroneously assumed he had uncovered an obscure passage from a Dr. Seuss book -- although Jon West gets the sole credit. I share it now, courtesy of these strange, wonderful people I married into....

Broom Doom, a dark tale

Flutter in the flue, up jumped the cat.
Flutter in the flue, out flies the bat.
Zoom went the bat.
Meow said the cat,
Preacher leaves the room;
Looking for a broom.
Meow said the cat;
Zoom went the bat.
Back in the room
Came the preacher with the broom.
The bat went zoom,
swoosh went the broom.
Meow said the cat,
had enough of that.
Swoosh went the broom;
cat leaves the room.
Bat on his head,
Preacher filled with dread.
Whap went the broom,
Bat meets its doom.