Once upon a time, there was an Army Wife who lived in a little house in the country with her son, her dog, and three cats. The Army even allowed her husband to come home from time to time. This story does not take place during one of those times.
One morning, last summer, our heroine traipsed upstairs to the master bedroom. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something large and brown on the curtain. "Oh, my! That's a very large moth!" she thought. A few seconds later, her eyes began to focus (darned myopia and astigmatism!) and she realized that it was, in fact, a bat which had taken refuge in the curtain.
Hmmm, thought the heroine as she looked at the three cats sleeping on her bed, apparently unaware of and/or unconcerned by the presence of the winged rodent. "Justify your existence!" she said to the felines.
The heroine ushered the child downstairs, closing the door behind her. She gathered her supplies: a camera (to provide visual documentation of the fun and excitement that her husband was missing out on), concertina wire gloves, and a hefty dose of intestinal fortitude. With one swift motion, she lowered the top section of the nifty-neato vinyl replacement window, and threw the curtain, bat and all, out onto the lawn below. Mission accomplished, sans injury to the bat and sans the heroine's screaming like a little girl. Pride abounded. The end.
epilogue
Perhaps the heroine should have adopted the little brown bat as a pet. For the past two nights, the family has been pestered by hordes of mosquitoes. As it turns out, the aforementioned nifty neato vinyl replacement window, including the screen, was wide open. Two nights of itchy insomnia ensued. Why do mosquitoes exist? Intelligent design, my itchy, welted, bug-bitten behind!
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