Yay for the hunting team of Daddy and Murphy the cat! When I was going up to bed, I heard a familiar screeching in the foyer and saw Murphy had trapped … well, I didn’t actually see what it was but I knew from experience that the screeching was a bat.
It’s been a long time since we’ve had a bat at the Funny Farm, at least that we know about. Darling husband didn’t know where he’d stashed his standard bat whacking uniform: gloves, a tennis racket, uniform from a county jail smuggled out by an inmate and given to David as a joke, and goggles.
But in bat whacking, time is of the essence, lest the critter escape inside one of the bedrooms and hides in the dark somewhere. Then no one sleeps for weeks. So in this case, there was no time to suit up. A badminton racket and a cat would have to do. Murphy had the bat cornered upstairs, so darling husband followed and after a few seconds of whacking (and pouncing by Murphy), the bat was dead.
It is now in our freezer awaiting a trip to the county health dept, where they track whacked bats for rabies.
Ta da! Just another day at the Funny Farm.