no bats in this belfrey

Last night at about 2am, the door to our bedroom was flung open, and chaos entered our dream state. No, it wasn't our resident ghost (more on that another time), it was one of the cats bringing us a little gift. A squealing, freaked out, live little gift.

I jumped nimbly fell groggily out of bed and crawled over to see what it was he had in his mouth. It sounded like a mouse, but in the dark and without my glasses, who could tell? I turned on the light and by this time Dave was awake (sort of) and peering over the end of the bed, trying to figure out what was going on. I picked up Chubbsie (whatever it was, was still in his mouth), and tried to figure out what he'd caught. Of course, at that moment, he decided to drop it. I dropped him, and ordered him to get it, not wanting to chase whatever it was around the house all night. He just crouched on the floor by it, watching. I got my glasses and took a look at the dark little thing lying on the floor squealing. Dave, still half asleep, kept asking me: "What is it?" Then offered up the opinion that it was some inanimate object. One that made noises. It turned out to be a small bat. I gathered it up in an apothecary jar from the bathroom and checked to see if it was still breathing. The poor critter was panting heavily, so I took it out to the backyard and dropped it in the ivy on the fence, all the while apologizing profusely to the little guy... I sure hope he recovered.

Mr. Chubbs has been hanging out on the porch roof at night, where it's cool and dark and breezy. He slips out through the open window in the front bedroom and contentedly sprawls out on the roof. Little did we know he has a secret agenda. I've got to hand it to him, though. You've got to be pretty fast to catch a bat.

The great hunter himself.