That is, my bats. I’m not bats, though I might be before the night is finished.
I’m really tired and went up to bed early. I had a bath and was just cleaning my teeth when the burglar alarm went off. I trotted downstairs and turned it off and went to investigate, unalarmed myself because Ben was lounging, undisturbed on his bed.
A bat was flying about the further dining room (yes, this is a big house and there are two dining rooms). Over the last half hour I’ve tried having the lights on or off, swishing around a badminton bat – not to try to hit it, but to give the impression of a barrier – and been out to the next door shed to find a net. When I got back and went in the room again, I discovered that I had two bats*, a second one having flown in the open window. I’ve no idea how the first one got in, no windows or doors have been left open since evening fell.
I’ve left them for the moment. I don’t know what to do now. I’m so sorry for them, because they’re so panic-stricken that they are using all their energy in swooshing round the room. One can’t corner a bat in the way one might a bird and they fly so fast that I can hardly keep track, yet they never hit a wall, which might stun them so that they can be picked up. I’ll go back in a few minutes and hope they might have found their way out, but if not I shall have to shut the window and leave them there. I can’t have it open overnight.
*Of course, I had three bats, but one was a racquet.