Moby Mouse-Bats

Call me Ishmael.

When we last left our story, Four Chickens had a mouse-bat in the house. Said mouse-bat was pooping in Girlfriend’s bureau and causing Ishmael (me) to do all her laundry several times. dAhub (Darling Hubby), stalked the mouse-bat at night, waiting for it to appear so he could wap it under a pot and take it outside. He did this many nights.

Then we got humane traps to trap the mouse-bat so we could trap the damn thing and take it outside. The beast seemed not to care for the almond butter we left it. What, oh flying spaghetti monster, could a mouse-bat want from us??

dAhub came home one afternoon, looked at the traps, cursed the fact that the mouse-bat didn’t seem to be falling for them. He opened one, only to have the mouse-bat stick its head out, look around long enough to say “Thanks, mister!” and hop out of the trap and run under the stove. Aarrgghh.

The next day, dAhub stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, waiting for the beast to show itself. He heard a rustling. He looked at the trap. Yes, the mouse-bat had taken the bait again (it turns out that mouse-bats love brown rice). dAhub shouted with glee (inside his head because it was 2:30 in the morning), put on a coat over his jammies and walked to the park next door and released the mouse-bat. So long forever, evil beast!

Then this morning, I woke up, looked at the kitchen counters and saw mouse-bat poops. And so starts the cycle again. I’m letting dAhub sleep in so he can have a few more moments of peace before confronting his biggest (little) foe again.