Going Batty
The Lake City High School's mascot is the Tigers. There are no tigers in Lake City, but, boy, are there bats. No one's team mascot name is ''The Bats''. Mascots are meant to sound fierce, not to give you the willies.
The first of many bat encounters was during our Oak Street remodelling project. The bats were as disoriented and ornery as many of my clients during construction and reconstruction. The confused bats would fly in the house instead of out. Our Mexican help, sleeping there, assume them blood-sucking. They took turns standing guard and swatting as many as possible. The poor little bug eaters' corpses would be lined up for my inspection. There was no disuading them. They, like most people, do not judge bats on the merit system.
Joyce Packard was our first tenant. She called one morning and told me she had a bat. Her husband had left before dawn. That is when the bat did its swooping. She panicked without male protection, and called the police. Lake City's best could not find the intruder, nor could they when called the following night. I riffled the yellow pages and appropriately found ''The Bat Evictors.'' $500 got us a 2 year guarantee and a little bat condo, placed next to the dormer, for the little evacuees. Everything was quiet for almost 2 years. We had new tenants. Don called to let us know, the bats were back. It had flown around the bedroom, out the door and came to rest on the window side of the curtain at the bottom of the stairs. They had readied a small step ladder next to the curtain so I could reach up with gloved hand and cup the critter. Don and his partner, Jerry, stepped back as I closed in on the bat's silouette. Jerry announced he would scream like a girl if I failed. I clamped down on the bat and wrestled him out the door and unto the lawn. When I released him, the bat looked right at me with a ''I'll get you look.'' Well, get us, he and his bat buddies did.
We had the Bat Evictor back 3 more times, looking for their secret entrance. Over the 2 week period, Don and Jerry became less and less understanding. The bats kept coming, night after night. Jerry called one morning. His voice went up a few octaves when he told me they had not seen the bat, but there was bat poop on the bed. Gerry and I did all we could. We would bring lawn chairs at dusk and sit in their yard looking for bats coming out. Don called one morning to let us know Jerry was in the hospital with chest pains. There wasn't yet a diagnosis, but Don was sure it was a heart attack caused by the bats. It turned out to be an anxiety attack caused mostly by his stressful job and maybe in some small measure caused by the bat willies. The bats were finally evicted, but our connection with Don and Jerry became more tenant-landlord like. In retrospect, being landlords, and living in Lake City was losing its luster.
The first of many bat encounters was during our Oak Street remodelling project. The bats were as disoriented and ornery as many of my clients during construction and reconstruction. The confused bats would fly in the house instead of out. Our Mexican help, sleeping there, assume them blood-sucking. They took turns standing guard and swatting as many as possible. The poor little bug eaters' corpses would be lined up for my inspection. There was no disuading them. They, like most people, do not judge bats on the merit system.
Joyce Packard was our first tenant. She called one morning and told me she had a bat. Her husband had left before dawn. That is when the bat did its swooping. She panicked without male protection, and called the police. Lake City's best could not find the intruder, nor could they when called the following night. I riffled the yellow pages and appropriately found ''The Bat Evictors.'' $500 got us a 2 year guarantee and a little bat condo, placed next to the dormer, for the little evacuees. Everything was quiet for almost 2 years. We had new tenants. Don called to let us know, the bats were back. It had flown around the bedroom, out the door and came to rest on the window side of the curtain at the bottom of the stairs. They had readied a small step ladder next to the curtain so I could reach up with gloved hand and cup the critter. Don and his partner, Jerry, stepped back as I closed in on the bat's silouette. Jerry announced he would scream like a girl if I failed. I clamped down on the bat and wrestled him out the door and unto the lawn. When I released him, the bat looked right at me with a ''I'll get you look.'' Well, get us, he and his bat buddies did.
We had the Bat Evictor back 3 more times, looking for their secret entrance. Over the 2 week period, Don and Jerry became less and less understanding. The bats kept coming, night after night. Jerry called one morning. His voice went up a few octaves when he told me they had not seen the bat, but there was bat poop on the bed. Gerry and I did all we could. We would bring lawn chairs at dusk and sit in their yard looking for bats coming out. Don called one morning to let us know Jerry was in the hospital with chest pains. There wasn't yet a diagnosis, but Don was sure it was a heart attack caused by the bats. It turned out to be an anxiety attack caused mostly by his stressful job and maybe in some small measure caused by the bat willies. The bats were finally evicted, but our connection with Don and Jerry became more tenant-landlord like. In retrospect, being landlords, and living in Lake City was losing its luster.