…and all through the house, Penelope was screaming, “MOMMEEEEEEEEE! I NEEEEEED YOU!” Shrieking, really.
Cecilia climbed up the stairs calmly asking, “What’s wrong Penelope?”
Where was I? Ok, I admit, I was kind of ignoring Penelope. I mean, she pulls the “Mommy, I need you” phrase A LOT. So at some point, there’d be a “boy who cried wolf” situation. This was it.
Penelope, absolutely hysterical, continued, “I WANT MOMMY. I NEED MOMMY!”
“Mommy…come here!” Cecilia started yelling, with some panic in her voice. That was my cue that something was actually wrong. It wasn’t just that Penelope couldn’t get the toothpaste cap off or she couldn’t reach the towel.
As I ran up the stairs, I saw Cecilia pushed up against a wall pointing at something on the bathroom floor. Meanwhile, Penelope was practically climbing into the bathroom sink, tears streaming down her face, cheeks bright red, panic and fear in her eyes.
I looked at the bathroom floor and saw something black, about two inches wide and slightly shorter than the length of my palm.
Here were my thoughts, excuse the language, but I tend to swear a lot in my head: WTF? What the hell is that? A piece of poop? A slug? How would a slug get in the house? I looked closer and saw fur and feet. Ew a mouse? No…there’s no tail. Those look like…wings? Holy shit is that a fuckin’ bat? Why the fuck is there a dead bat on my bathroom floor?!? Now what? My kids are screaming and I’m supposed to keep calm right? Good god there’s a fucking bat on my bathroom floor!!!!
“A jar!” I said out loud.
I ran downstairs and got the biggest jar I could find, brought it back up and placed it on top of the bat. The bat wiggled. Ugh! What if it’s alive and gets out from under the jar?
“I know! A laundry basket!” I said to myself. So I put a an upside down mesh laundry basket on top of the jar. But wait, what if it starts flapping around in the laundry basket? I lifted Penelope off of the bathroom counter and closed the bathroom door. There. If the bat happens to be alive and escapes my jar-basket trap, he’ll just fly around in the bathroom until Fred gets home, I thought.
After calming down the girls and putting them to bed, I texted Fred, whose plane had just landed in Portland.
Uh. U got to get home. There’s something in the bathroom. Not sure what it is, think it’s a bat. It’s under a jar under a basket with the door closed.
You see, I don’t do well with animals that shouldn’t be in my home. Mice, rats, bats…I don’t want them in my house.
Fred got home about 2 hours later. He brought home cannolis from a pastry place in Boston’s North End, as well as a box of Voodoo Doughnuts for Valentine’s Day.
I left him a dead bat under a jar under a basket behind a closed door. Happy Valentine’s Day, dear!