I've just had the pleasure of a visit from not one, nor two, but three bats. Nor were these like the cute dude who spent some time with me a while back. That bat was little, and very tired, and happy to be caught in a cup.

Catching these bats required the assistance of an implement of science from the garage. Perhaps a butterfly net? Or miscellaneous bug net. Or even a bat net. I fetched it. The garage provides.

I took my stance in the corner the room. Swing! One bat snagged and delivered to the outdoors.

I made ready for bat number two, but this one was wise to my ways. At the last minute it did what bats do and took a wild curve. The rim of my net encountered bat. Bat encountered bookshelf and lay, stunned.

I was crippled by guilt. But the bat stirred and wiggled, and I scooped it into the net. Once outside, the bat flew away.

Relief.

Back inside the remaining bat was tired and large. I swung. I missed. I swung again. Missed again. Again I swung and the bat was retired, noisily, to the out of doors.

Where did the bats come from? I don't know.

But the garage provides