BatBaby

No, not a superhero baby. A real bat baby. Baby bat. In my flat. Yesterday.

Tipsy, what’s that bird flying around?
What bird?
Over there
Oh, God! Must’ve gotten in somehow and is trapped. Open all the doors and windows and it’ll fly away
Tipsy?
Yeah?
I don’t think it’s a bird…

After which Tipsy and her friend proceeded to call the watchman and ask for help from a neighbour while the not-bird perched on a curtain rod, and then crouch on the floor and scream when it panicked and started swooping around the house again.

(Watchman arrives)
Where is it, then?
It’s… I don’t know… it seems to have hidden somewhere…
(Much shaking out of curtains and peering into corners)
Well, it’s gone now
No, it’s not! I didn’t see it go! I can’t sleep in this house!

Of course it hadn’t gone. It was hiding till everyone had left and I was alone in the house, and it was dark outside, and came and swooped at me. Reduced me to a squealing mass of jelly fast melting on the floor of the kitchen, it did.

But this scene out of an ’80s horror movie fast turned into a tragedy, as it hit the rotating fan and plopped on the sofa, and lay there mewling. So now there was a screeching me on the kitchen floor and a mewling bat on the living room sofa. The watchman (my hero!) came and took it away, and to his credit, didn’t laugh even once at my hysterics.

And I was left staring at a bloody sofa and a bat wing on the floor.