It’s the middle of the night, and for the second time in two weeks I’ve had BATS flying around INSIDE MY APARTMENT. Which is seriously not cool, yo.
I think this might be easier if I was living in a dirt floored hut. It’s not that I’m afraid of bats. Foot high fruit bats in Okinawa are cool. These little Crimean bats are tiny in comparison- the size of a matchbox car. Even if they tried they couldn’t bite anything off.
There’s just some sort of mental security, a guarantee of separation from the outside world which comes with having wallpaper and carpeting and throw-covered armchairs. A mental security that seeing a bat hanging in your lace curtains violates the hell out of.
It’s the same feeling as the frikken scariest amusement park ride ever: the swinging cabin Ferris wheel. Shoot me up high into the sky, blast me through twists and turns, hang me upside down, and I’m fine. Lock me into a gently swinging metal cage WITH NO SEATBELTS and push me up into the air and I will have a panic attack. Somehow those puny little lapbelts that Disney’s all about these days convinces my brain that there’s no danger to be had in seven stories of free-fall, and that when they’re missing I am obviously facing death. False security is so much more potent than reality.
NOTE: you know your brain has been strained when it’s making lists like:
cats ants bats
Oh so, other than the inside/outside issue, and the understandable fear of things dive bombing one’s head, I’m really afraid of my cat getting rabies, i.e. dying. Because when your vet makes $1 a visit there’s not really a “standard” set of vaccinations. There aren’t even standard operating hours.
So far I haven’t actually observed Sherlock biting a bat, but she’s tackled two of them to the ground. And for a “hunter” whose usual prey is stuff like the holes in notebook paper, this is pretty impressive.