>Well just the other night our household had a visit from Silverwing (or Shade, to be precise). My wife was awakened by a flapping sound and thought that something had briefly bumped her face. With her keen eyes she spotted an object on the blind that was much larger than a moth. She immediately vacated the room. Where was I? Sleeping in the basement because I had decided it was too hot to sleep upstairs. I had a very restful sleep. In the morning I was met with, “There’s a bat in our house! There’s a bat in our house!”
It somehow became my job to rid the house of the bat. But, of course, I’ve read the Silverwing saga and I knew that this was just some poor bat that was lost trying to find its colony or fleeing blood-sucking bats named Goth. So I googled “how to catch a bat in your house.” Assuming you want the bat to live (I couldn’t hurt poor little Shade), tennis rackets are out. It suggested a wet towel to throw over the bat wherever it lands, gloves (so you don’t get bit), and a container (a pail) to trap it in if it is attached to the wall. I gathered my implements and went all through the upstairs. Not a bat to be found. But I certainly opened every drawer or door gingerly.
Not much else could be done, so we continued on with our lives and went out for the evening. When we returned my wife went into the house first and shouted, “There’s a big bat in the main room!” I suggested she shouldn’t panic and peeked around the corner at which point I shouted, “That is a big bat!” I sweated a lot and dialed 9-1-1. Well, okay, I just backed away slowly. I then gathered my bat catching tools, and went outside and opened the window (hoping the bat would just fly out, but apparently Shade wasn’t being co-operative). Then I crept back in and started to look around. The bat wasn’t flying anymore so, I deduced that it must have landed (See, aren’t I a smart hunter?). I spotted a black thing on our blind.
“Shade,” I said, “Shade go home. Get out of my house. Go visit Kenneth Oppel. He’s in Toronto. That’s only about 10000 wingbeats from here.” Shade didn’t budge.
So I realized I had to capture him myself. I took my handy pail and walked half way across the room and had a sudden bout of primal fear. At that point I took two steps back and said to my wife, “It turns out, I’m a chicken.” Then we laughed and laughed. I don’t think that was news to her. My wife’s next words after that were, “don’t wreck the blind.” As if the situation wasn’t complex enough! I got a sudden burst of bravery from some other dimension. I walked across the room, banged the pail over the bat, and it began flapping around inside and going “scree scree scree.” My wife slid a lid over the pail and shortly afterward I had the bat outside. I left the open pail next to a tree (I’d read bats prefer to climb trees and drop to fly, taking off from the ground is hard for them). And that was the last we saw of Shade. So far. Oh, here’s another close-up of his face
He looks familiar doesn’t he? Now where did I see that face before?
Isn’t it enough that I read the books? I don’t want the real thing. That’s why I’m a reader!
Oh, how did the bat get into our house? Uh, because I’d taken the screen off the window to look out at our eavestrough a few nights before (we had a downpour, more rain in a day that we usually have in a month). The screen was off for about an hour. So, uh, I guess it was all my fault.
I didn’t wreck the blind though.