At first I questioned what I saw, convincing myself that this lump was probably just a brown washcloth. I wiped my eyes, bent down carefully to peer at it, and confirmed that it was, in fact, an animal. A sick, gross, animal. I had never really seen a bat up close, especially not with soaking wet fur half-dying in a shower, but my gut told me, "That is an effing bat." I could see there was a distinguished head, it was much too dark to be a mouse, and overall looked really dirty, like it might even have rabies.
Even though it was the middle of the night, I rushed down the hall to my dad's room and yelled and knocked on his door. "Dad, wake up, there's something in the shower. Like an animal. Like a mouse or a bat," I said.
He woke up and wasn't too happy. "Rachel it's the middle of the night, you're probably just dreaming," he said, in an unpleasant voice. After turning the corner into the bathroom and ripping open the shower curtain he exclaimed, "OHH myyyyyy Gooodddd...that's a bat." (Yessss...I KNEW it was a bat. Victory at last! He never believes me when I say I see spiders or roaches, and NOW he's seeing the BAT with his own eyes.)
My dad jumped back away from the bathtub, grabbed the small trash can that was next to the toilet and dumped all the trash it was holding onto the floor. Kleenex, Q-tips, tampon applicators, and hair balls spilled out onto the tile floor. He leapt toward the tub and slammed the trash can over the bat, trapping it underneath. He then commanded that I get something to slide between the trash can and the tub so we could lift it up and take the bat outside.
I was in shock and kept yelling, "Dad, can't we just please like call animal control!!? Or the police?" Of course my Dad wouldn't do that, he was going to handle the bat himself. He came into my room to search for something to use to slide under the trash can. He said, "It has to be hard, like cardboard, in case the bat tries to fly out. Like it can't be paper." He went to grab a small painting I've had for years that my friend Chad painted.
"Dad, that's like a painting?! You can't just take it and let the bat touch it???!!" I yelled. "Rachel, can it be sacrificed? The bat's moving around?!" he replied.
Using my quick problem-solving skills and analytical thinking, I threw the painting down (because of course it couldn't be sacrificed? wtf Dad?) and grabbed a binder. I ripped the cover off and gave it to my dad. We both went back into the bathroom, he slowly lifted the trash can up about half an inch and I slid the binder cover underneath. We successfully trapped the bat.
The whole ordeal was almost over; all that was left was to take the bat outside and free it. If it were up to me, I probably would have just thrown things at it while it was in the bath tub or hairsprayed it until it died, but my dad said we should run downstairs and release it. I ran down the steps in front of him then down a second flight of stairs to the back door in the basement. It was still dark out, of course, making things even more creepy. I quickly opened the door, waiting for my dad to step outside and let the bat go. My dad, however, didn't run out the door after I had opened it. Instead, I saw him throw the entire trash can with the bat inside as far as he could out the door. It went about 30 feet away into the back yard. We rushed back upstairs.
I was in a huge hurry to get ready for the airport and insisted I would not let this event stop me from taking a shower. I poured an entire thing of Comet on the floor of the tub, scrubbed with a brush, ran the water for a bit and then showered anyway, trying to avoid the sick spot where I remembered the bat laying.
I made it to the airport on time, and began my vaca with an interesting story to tell Samantha when I got there.
My dad called later that day to tell me he ventured into the back yard to recover the trash can. The bat was nowhere to be found.