There are some days that begin before you’re ready. You spend all day trying to catch up without success, feeling like time is escaping you. And then there are other days where you will the day to begin, because everything is moving too slowly.
This morning was the latter for me.
It was 4:30 in the morning, and I was getting sick and tired of waiting for the sun to rise. I was looking out the window for any hint of starting the day, but it just wouldn’t happen. I ended up eating breakfast at six o’clock, in the dark, then having a second breakfast at nine.
What caused these unforeseen events?
The bat. Of doom.
When I went to bed last night, everything was normal. Sure, I’d been hearing weird noises in my room for the past few weeks but it’s all fiiiine campers, nothing to worry about.
But then at about four this morning, I was awoken by something in my face. A tiny moth, flying like a mad thing at my nose. I quickly squished it, rolled over, closed my eyes and tried to fall back asleep.
And then came the sound of the flapping of wings.
Not moth wings, not angel wings, but something that sounded like a creature. Something much bigger than a moth, much spookier than a moth. Something that resembled a flying mouse.
I fumbled in the dark for my glasses, as you do when you’re short sighted and are in the midst of a crisis, and ran out of bed to turn the light on, hoping not to crash into any flying creatures as I did so.
I turned the light on and nothing was to be found. All was silent.
This quickly turned stressful as I realised I needed to find it; I couldn’t go to sleep after hearing the flap-flap of wings. It was terrifying. It would haunt me. I needed to hunt it down.
I sat on my bed for a few minutes, pondering what to do, not wanting to find something but also not wanting to leave something unknown in my bedroom. Okay. I grabbed a torch and shone it in all the places I would go if I were a bat; corners of the ceiling, squished against a shelf, under the bed.
Under the bed.
I shone the torch under the bed and there was a bat, clinging onto the bottom of my bed, half tucked underneath and half poking out the edge. Definitely a wing. Definitely a flapping wing that nightmares were made of.
Now, I’ve had bats in my room before. Well, just the one. A few years ago, I had woken up one night to see the shadow of a bat covering half of my wall, made from the light of my alarm clock. My first sleepy thought: Batman! No, that doesn’t sound quite right. Second thought: Actual bat! Oh no that’s so much worse than Batman.
Following the same pattern, I had run over to turn my light on, and found the bat hanging off a framed picture on my wall. Not wanting to lose sight of the creature but not wanting to be in the same room, I called my parents.
My dad came to the rescue while mum called out encouragements from a different room. A towel and a bucket were used to send the little guy outside.
But here’s the thing: my bat from this morning? Not a little guy. His wings looked bigger than the previous bats I had seen before (we’ve had numerous cases of bats flying around our lounge room before) and oh man I ran to my parents’ room.
This is where things get a little more complicated.
My dad took off my fly screen so the bat could sense the cold night air and fly out. After the fly screen was off, we shone the torch where I had spotted the bat, but he was gone. Gone. He was nowhere to be seen, so I’m praying that he’s flown out the window because man oh man I can’t deal with a bat being stuck in my room.
At 4:20am, we decided to leave my fly screen off for the reminder of the ‘night’ and keep my door closed, just to ensure he’s flown out. I was worried about what could fly in, to be honest, but nothing else could be done, so I grabbed blankets and slept on the lounge.
Except I didn’t sleep.
I lay there for two hours, thinking about many things including how hungry I was, and then at six I toasted myself an english muffin and coated it in lots of butter.
A couple of hours after my first breakfast, my dad reattached the fly screen, and now I am sitting in my room, which I am currently hoping is bat-less.