Head crafted entirely from felt
This gruesome head on a spike was part of a window display I saw in NY on one of our night time ramblings. It is horrific, macabre, and yet somehow playful. Rather like a bat.
Some people profess to liking bats and praise their worth in terms of keeping the mosquito population from taking over the world. I say there's bug spray for that. I don't believe in Heaven and Hell, but if I did, I know which Afterlife Country bats would hail from, as exemplified by the term "like a bat out of hell." It is absolutely wrong that rodents should be able to fly! Especially ones that don't see well, as in "blind as a bat." "Oh, but they won't fly into you--they have sonar, " the batophiles exclaim. Perhaps so, but it seems to only kick in once the winged mouse has flown directly at you and pulled up at the very last second before impact.
We live in a quasi-rural setting. Ok, we live in the sticks. While we have all that lovely bucolic stuff going on around us, we also have the more disagreeable sh*t as well. Bats, for example. Those recent 3 weeks while Pierre was away, my terror would set in around dusk--the dreaded batting hour. I took the precaution of turning on the porch lights and several lamps around the ground floor of the house (energy-saving light bulbs--we do our bit to save the planet). Each time I let the cat in or out the back door, I spoke loudly to her, peered through the screen, and booted her. I spent a happily bat-free 3 weeks and heaved a sigh of relief once the Batman had returned.
In case there are some batty innocents out there, I will explain the correct procedure to adopt should a bat get into your house. Upon first sighting, scream as loudly as you possibly can, pull the back of your shirt up over your head, and run from the room yelling "NO NO NO NO NO!" until reaching the safety of your bedroom. Barricade yourself in, with blankets stuffed along the bottom of the door and all the lights on. Having now sounded the alert, you can wait for someone else to deal with the thing.
Last night I was peacefully sleeping, only to be awoken by the hall light shining through the bottom space of the bedroom door. I then heard a series of odd bumps and random thumps coming from downstairs. I listened for a bit, fearing that Pierre had finally gone completely nuts and was doing spectacularly nutty things. But then it dawned on me: "There's a bat in the house!"
Usually with some clever dance manoeuvres and dexterous use of a window screen or blanket, Pierre is successful of herding the critter back into the great mosquito-ridden night sky. Last night, however, the all clear was not given. The bat eluded the Batman and went into hiding.
Consequently, I am hereby alerting you that if you hear a blood-curdling scream emanating from Canada's eastern seaboard tonight you will understand that it is merely the Madlynne, sounding the bat alarm. Oh, the horror, the horror!