I have a lot to tell you about my week, but this story goes first.
So we get home last night and I start sorting laundry as we dump it out of bags and suitcases. Laundry so dirty and dusty it could sort itself. Sort, sort, sort. I am a sorting machine. I go into the basement and over to the area where the laundry chute empties out so I can gather the laundry left over before we left. Sort, gather, sort. I am in that bent over position of a person sorting laundry that is on the floor. You know what I mean. I turn from the chute area in the bent position to grab some hand towels on the floor. As I reach for the pile, the top towel turns it head and looks at me with sad, starving eyes.
Wait a minute.
That’s not a towel.
That’s a bat.
A bat that squeezed itself somehow into my basement up to a week ago and could not find its way out and chose this pile of hand towels as a place to die.
But I have just come from Wyoming! I am not faint of heart! I spent last week looking for a bear! I can deal with this!
Very calmly I looked at the bat and said, “Okay, wait here.”
And then I ran upstairs and got Brent.
I looked for the bear from the safety of the car, are you kidding me? I cannot handle a bat alone.