Bat Out of Hell

I call Scott and tell him Kate will be joining me for the evening. He's glad. He hates the idea of me out at the cottage alone. And he'd intended to join me Friday night at first. That is until his younger daughter made plans to attend a party.  And plans for him to drive. A bunch of kids. Both ways. He'd have to drop her off at his sister's so she can work the next day before leaving. He's vowed to pry her teenaged body from the bed at the earliest possible hour and carry her to the car in her pajamas if necessary.  Teenagers and their social lives have a way of ruling nights with their commitments. It is only fitting that we intrude on their mornings as payback.

I light a few candles to get rid of the musty smell. The house is vacant for long stretches of time. I open the windows and get it smelling like some kind of Yankee Candle scent.  In not time it is Martha Stewart perfect, natch. Like Charlotte would have it any other way.

I pick out clothes to put on after my shower and then take my stuff into the bathroom. As I shut the door, I notice three towels hanging on hooks from Charlotte and Jack's last visit. I toss them on the floor in the hall and make a note to throw them into the wash when I am through with my shower. 

I shower. I dress. I put some fabulous stuff in my wildly curly hair and let it be untamed. Kate and I will be sitting having beers on the porch. I need not tame its volume for the night. It can take on epic proportions. I throw in the wash, pull the knob and get ready to enjoy the evening. I pour a cold beer and head out onto the porch. Trinket is exploring the place and I make sure I close the door behind me so she can't escape into the wild. I'd never catch her if she did and she'd never return to a life of confinement on her own. I'd be heart broken.

I sit on the sofa on the porch and wait for Kate's call. She should be here soon. And then suddenly I hear Trinket meowing. I have been sitting for less than a minute!

Poor baby. She does this when she can't find me.  Like in the middle of the night when her little chickpea brain can't comprehend that she is the one who has been darting all over the house and she can't find anyone.  No one else has moved. We are all in our beds. But still she has to meow to find us. I usually air kiss a few times and she comes running in the night. It is like a silly little feline game of Marco Polo. 

I get up from my seat and walk back into the house, talking to Trinket as though she can understand me. (I am sure the Miller's across the street already think I'm nuts. I just keep on giving them more and more proof...) 

"Oh, Puss, I'm sorry!  I didn't mean to give you the Lonelies!  I should know better than to bring you all the way out here and leave you by yourself! Bad Mommy."

I open the door from the porch into the dining area and I can see her on the other side of the open door off to the left. She is sitting. Quite calmly sitting. But intently looking at something with one paw raised. Ready to strike.

"What do you have there, Putty?"  I bend slightly to get a look. It looks like a piece of black fabric.  Ragged on the edges. Like a men's dark dress sock with the heel out. 

Must be a fascinating sock. She's not looking up. 

And that is when I notice that the "sock" has started to move. And as I step away to the left and close the door, I can see what it is that Trinket has cornered. And a look of horror spreads across my face and I stifle a Horror Movie Scream.

It is a stunned, fully extended, trying recover from the shock, black bat.

And at that moment my phone begins to ring in my hand.