August interior life

It’s truly August — even though the month is nearly over.  How can I tell?  The wildlife.

August means big spiders.  All those tiny hatchlings have been eaten, stepped on, brushed outside — or they’ve survived.  And the ones that have survived this long are big.

Maybe not as big as a mouse, but bigger than a quarter.  At least, in my house.

I don’t mind garden spiders – well, not too much.  A spider (or snake, or chipmonk) suddenly appearing where I’ve placed my hand will make me jump, but the worst that happens is I move out of the way.    I honor the garden spiders, let them build their webs, and really like having small predators in the yard.

But an unexpectedly large spider, dropping on my head from nowhere, really brings out all my avoidance behaviors.  This morning, I dumped everything out of the tub because a spider came calling.

But spiders are nothing compared to bats.

I’ve rescued little, white-footed mice from the cats and taken them outside.  I even rescue spiders and beetles.  But I am not willing to deal with bats.  The cats may try to corner a bat, but I want to pull something over my head and shrink into a little pile.  It doesn’t help at all that I know this is foolish.

I want someone to rescue me from the bats. 

Last year we put a new roof and new insulation on the house.  Maybe that will be enough to have sealed whatever access the bats have found in the past, and keep them outside.

Outside, I can enjoy acrobatic bats swirling in the evening air, catching whatever they eat.  And then I can go inside, without bats.

I can manage a skunk.  I can handle deer.  I can intimidate a racoon.  These animals just invade the yard. But somehow, I’m never the victor dealing with bats.


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2 Responses to August interior life

  1. HD says:

    “I can intimidate a racoon.”

    Details, please.

    • sbriere says:

      Racoon gets into my trash can. I go out, growl, and tell it to leave. “Hey, get out of there!” (I use the voice of authority, which is deeper in pitch than a typical womanly voice.)

      It leaves.

      My spouse, who will abandon me to bats, finds a racoon in the trash. He dumps water on it. He bangs on the trash can. He yells. The racoon sneers. Eventually, he dumps the trash can out, spreading the trash and the racoon out on the ground. Racoon ambles away.

      My spouse will also let the deer chase him inside so they can eat my yard in peace. I tell them to leave; they leave.

      Clearly, to racoons and deer, I’m intimidating. But to bats, I’m prey. Or maybe they are just too scared to be reasonable — as am I.

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