Trapped Alone with a Killer
I entered the closet armed with only a large Rubber Maid food-storage container and my lightning-quick hands. I call them lightning-quick because I have been known to snatch an actual lightning bug right out of the air in mid-flight. I grabbed a coat hanger and used it like a lion tamer's whip, keeping the wild sparrow at a safe distance so his razor sharp beak couldn’t do to me what I had seen happen in Alfred Hitchcock’s famous movie, The Birds. If only the characters in The Birds had enough sense to carry a supply of Rubber Maid containers and coat hangers, they would have been safe.
I screamed twice during my hour-long battle in the closet. Both times the demon with wings swooped directly above my head, threatening to pelt me with partially digested worms. Eventually, after trying every animal trapping technique I had ever seen on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, I said a prayer to St. Francis.
“Frank,” I prayed, “You help me catch this evil creature alive right now or I’m going to have to borrow my brother’s 12-gauge and do some serious hunting in this here closet.” I had the bird in the Rubber Maid container within two minutes. Frankie does good work.
I’m just glad that our friends hadn’t left by the back door. I’ve seen deer in our backyard and Rubber Maid doesn’t make a “stag-size” container. Besides, I don’t like the thought of being alone in my closet for an hour with an animal with antlers.
(You may visit Tim's Web site at http://homepages.udayton.edu/~bete.)
The toughest creatures I’ve had to catch are bats. I’m usually a pretty sound sleeper but when a bat is swooping around in my bedroom, diving within inches of my nose, I do the only sensible thing I know: pull the covers over my head until my wife kicks me out of bed to catch the mosquito-breathed varmint.
Tim 1, Bats 0.
I have two favorite methods for catching bats. The first is to grab a tennis racket and pretend I’m Pete Sampras and have just been lobbed a shot that I can easily smash down the line to win the Wimbledon Championship. Unfortunately, this method is messy and should only be used when you’ve cornered a bat in an unfinished basement. I prefer method number two for furnished areas of the house: tape a fishing net onto the end of a broom and play a game of bat lacrosse.
My wife and I used to live in an old Victorian house that teemed with vermin. Each June, without fail, bats would serenade us as we slept. I got used to the drill of catching them and tossing them out the window with my makeshift lacrosse stick. But I didn’t catch them all. One summer morning, my wife was putting on a sneaker when she heard a terrifying screeching sound. Her toes had invaded the abode of a sleeping bat.
Be Afraid … Be Very Afraid
I tell you this story not because I’m worried about your safety but because I relish the thought of thousands of people shaking their shoes upside down every day for the rest of their lives. That’s the power of the pen. Remember, the bat was hiding way down deep inside my wife’s sneaker — near the toe. You may want to wear sandals for the next ten years until you forget this story. (Note to self: Run this column again in ten years to remind those readers who have successfully forgotten the bat story.)
My latest indoor safari began when friends of ours were leaving our house a few weeks ago. As soon as they opened the front door, in flew a sparrow. But this was no ordinary sparrow. It looked more like a Pterodactyl. In 20 years, when I tell the story to my grandchildren, I will describe the songbird’s claws which could easily snatch up unsuspecting cows as they peacefully grazed in the field and its beak that could skewer a full-grown pig and swallow it in a single gulp.
I quickly cornered the bird in our bedroom closet and just as quickly quarantined my kids downstairs before they could get a good look at it. I didn’t want them to blow my story for the grandkids, so the less they saw, the better.
