Lact Cave or Bat Cave?

That's the question we've been asking ourselves tonight, having just dispatched our second bat. Well, that's not entirely true: our first bat, which appeared almost exactly two years ago with the birth of our fist son, lived on. Where, we do not know. Flash forward two years: Now, as Ms. A is sitting here feeding baby number two, there appears yet another bat, this one flying between the living room and the dining room.

Action: Whisk baby upstairs and put him in the bassinet, close Benny's bedroom door (now both babies are crying), Mr. S goes to the basement to get the tennis rackets, and Ms. A comes back downstairs to help him track it down. Where is it? In the kitchen? Did it go upstairs? Is it attached to Ms. A's back? No! It's hiding behind the monkey plate hanging on the wall in the dining room, of course!

So Mr. S comes up with a plan: let's tape a trash bag around the plate, bat and all. That didn't work: Bat figured it out, flew out the other side. Now the bat is flying again, making his/her sonar sound. Mr. S takes a swipe with his tennis racket. No dice. So now it's go time: Ms. A takes aim, and here it comes around the china cabinet!

WHACK.

And that's it for The Bat. Ms. A immediately feels bad for the little rodent, while Mr. S is exultant having witnessed his wife's rodent-whacking prowess! He uses the tennis rackets to scoop up the bat, transfer it to out-of-doors. Ms. A hopes the bat is either mercifully dead or just stunned, not injured and dying. She still feels bad for little guy.

Mr. S is proud that she saved him and the babies from certain rabies and probable nocturnal blood sucking.

Now everything is back to normal. Our house is just a lact cave.