You can't make this stuff up

Ah, COME ON! I know I’ve been joking that this place is so dark it’s like a cave, but I’m not a friggen super hero, I don’t want to hang out with bats. Am I kidding? I wish.

Here I go and give myself a break from my new place hunt that I’ve been on for the last 2 months straight, like a second job, and only drove the neighborhoods for an hour and a half today, leaving myself the rest of the afternoon to spend with Cella, doing lunch and a movie, and upon returning home I end up less than five feet from a bat in a floundering flight.

Not cool.

“Nuh, uh,” you say. “How can it be?” you ask.

Fine. Than what was it? Just as I was turning key to knob, a black, blob of a featherless flying object was flipping its stunted flaps against the overhang of the condo porch, in what appeared to be a disorientated redirection of aim, at 8:30 pm in the evening. (Little reminder, the expression “blind as a bat” has it merits.)

Just in case there was a chance I mistook a bird for a bat, because perhaps birds do fly at night and bats don’t exist at the beach where I live, I Googled it. One article down from my basic search, dated 2010-04-07, I found a siting in my area. “Rabid bat enters home; Health department issues warning.”

Perfect. If I die from a panic attack a pack of rapid bats can eat my decaying flesh instead of wild wolves. I can’t think of a more poetic disposal of my corpse. Nice. (BTW... Do bats come in packs?)