Mrs. Hanssen and the Bat

Dee and GH Hanssen

 On two different occasions in two different houses, a bat has entered our home through the fireplace. By God, I know it was the same bat. 

With the help of one small black kitty - who instantly became a maniacal predator - my husband John caught both bats and set them free outside so that, once again, they could make a bee-line for the chimney to map out future break-ins. I've been terrified ever since and pray regularly that I will die before John does. I wouldn't even know how to catch a bat. If John's deceased, I'll just sell the house.

I should pray instead to be as brave as Dee Hanssen. With her beautiful, bright smile, Dee is much more than our guitar-playing, golf-coaching religion teacher. The lady's got guts. Not long ago as she and her husband GH were sleeping, Dee heard a frightening "whoosh" above her head. She was instantly awake.

"GH!" she shook her husband. "There's a bat!"

GH turned over and murmured something like "Pull the covers over your head." In the morning when he was fully conscious, however, he was sufficiently concerned. He and Dee intently hunted but caught only rare glimpses before the bat disappeared again. Hoping to contain it in their bedroom, they slept on couches in the living room the next night, and the night after, and the night after that. 

Finally, Dee read that peppermint is a superb bat repellent and strategically placed cotton balls doused in peppermint oil all over the house. It worked too well. Now the entire house reeked of peppermint, and the bat hid itself away for a solid week.

One morning a few days ago, an exhausted Dee stepped into the shower and - you guessed it - discovered the bat. 

In the shower stall. 

With Dee. 

IN THE SHOWER STALL WITH DEE. 

It only gets worse. Before Dee could properly process this rapid fire turn of events, the bat slid down her leg to land in a small dark heap on the shower floor. Immediately, Dee leapt out of the stall to grab her trusty tennis racquet which, fortunately, was her weapon of choice and beside her at all times during Bat Week, and trapped the bat beneath it. Then she calmly notified her husband.

"I GOT THE BAT!" she shrieked, alerting the neighbors and shattering several wine glasses.

Thankfully, the bat didn't bite her because the only thing worse than a bat in the shower is a rabid bat in the shower. So all is once again calm at the Hanssen residence.

Kids think teachers talk nothing but testing strategies and fascinating documentaries in the faculty lounge. If only they knew. There's another good story about Mr. Kester and the bearded lady from the carnival. 

But I better not tell that one.

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