We've been watching with great interest the former bat-cave that was the front eave of our home. One night 47 bats, the next, one.
One bat? Bats are not generally lone wolves. They prefer to live in colonies.
Leave it to me to be harboring a sort of Unabomber/Serial Killer of the species. I have visions of him living up there, plotting his revenge. The Lee Harvey Oswald of bat-dom.
No letters from PETA yet but I'm waiting for the indignant Letter to the Editor about how ignorant I am for not understanding how wonderful bats are. My response is that I DO understand that just as I know how crucial Honeybees are, but I don't want them nesting on my pillow either!
Once there was a little band of thrown-together soccer players who decided to travel to Outer Nowhere Pennsylvania for a soccer tournament. They hadn't played together previously and had only four practices to prepare but they were good players and their hearts were true. Then they arrived to find out that they had been inadvertently scheduled to play giants. Big, hulking men with full facial hair. Big hulking giant competitive cup players who travel the Eastern U.S. to compete and were probably just as puzzled as anyone as to why they were playing eleven year olds. Fortunately, the giants were kind and did not crush the intrepid young team too badly. Thank you giants. Where ever you are.
Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Center. Notice it says "Hayes, Wheeler, & FOSTER." My brush with greatness? Probably not.