Our cat, Y2K, better known as 2-kee, was a very pampered kitty, but occasionally went on the hunt. During those periods, we’d find a mouse, a mole, or a portion thereof on our back deck.  I am not sure what drove those sudden nighttime escapades; she generally spent her evenings curled up on a soft bed somewhere.  Maybe it was the sudden change to cooler weather that inspired her increased nocturnal activities. 

Whatever the reason, I really wished she’d stop.

However, there was one night when her predatory prowess proved valuable.  It was in March 2003, right after the US invaded Iraq.  I was working as a chemistry professor in those days and had been up late grading papers.  Al, Eric, and Ellen were all sleeping upstairs.   Around 2 am, I got a glass of water, flopped down on the couch, and flipped on CNN for the most recent news on the war.  As I sat down, I noticed movement in my peripheral vision.

Our dog, Pippi, was dancing about, toenails clicking on the tile floor. At first, I thought a bird had flown into our home, but as I watched it zig and zag, I realized that flying around our family room was a bat. 

So, I did what every independent 21^st century woman would do under such circumstances.  I ran upstairs and woke Al up. “Al, Al!” I shouted.  “There’s a bat in our family room!” 

He opened one eye, sighed deeply and said, “No, Debs, there are no bats in the house.  You must have been dreaming.”

Dreaming?  I wasn’t even sleeping! I insisted that there was a bat in the house and I insisted that he come downstairs to see. Shaking his head, he followed me downstairs to the family room, where the bat had been flying just minutes before and, of course, there was no bat to be found.  Pippi was sleeping peacefully. Al said, “Where? I don’t see a bat.”

I looked around the kitchen. No bat.

I went into the dining room.  No movement.  No bat.

I noticed 2-kee sitting on the dining room table staring intently towards the ceiling. Sitting.  Very still.  I followed her gaze and there were two tiny ears poking out above the drapes.

“Ah ha! “There it is!”  I shook the drapes and sure enough the bat took flight towards the living room. 

Al shouted, “There’s a bat in the house!” 

Yeah, I knew that.

We wanted to catch the bat and take it outside, preferably unharmed.  I ran upstairs to shut the kids’ bedroom doors, to keep our zipping trespasser out of their rooms.  I grabbed the first thing I found, wrapping paper tube, thinking it might work to knock the bat out of the air, but not hurt it.  I handed it to Al and he started swinging at the bat

Our living room had high ceilings- 12 feet in the center– giving the bat plenty of room to avoid attack.  Al was attired in only his low-rise royal blue briefs.  Our living room had a big bay window on the street side, the drapes were open and the sheer curtains gave little privacy.  So, if anyone was walking by, they’d see, only slightly obscured by the curtains, a man wildly swinging what would look like a baseball bat wearing only a pair of low-rise royal-blue briefs.

The bat zigged and zagged, easily avoiding the wrapping paper tube. Al kept swinging.

Meanwhile, 2-kee sat very still on the edge of a chair. 

Watching.

Silently. 

Waiting.

Suddenly she sprang from the chair, leapt 4 feet into the air, and with astonishing accuracy, reached out and swatted that bat. Down it fell. Hitting the floor, it scurried under the sofa.   We found a flashlight and looked for the bat. No luck. I thought it might be behind the sheer curtains, so I opened them.  No bat.  Al thought it might be clinging to the underside of the sofa and started hitting the cushions with the wrapping paper tube.  Now passersby, were there any, would have been treated to a perfect view of a man clad in only low-rise royal-blue briefs, hitting something on a sofa with what would look like a baseball bat.

This might be how neighborhood rumors get started.

Finally, we found the bat, curled up in a tiny ball, behind a leg of our couch.  The bat was dead with one clean slash down the chest by our very own 2-kee, the warrior cat. 

You’ve got to respect a cat like that. 

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