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I came downstairs from putting our kids to bed to find my husband, Glen, standing in the living room with a blanket in hand.

"Oh hey," he said calmly, "I was wondering what was taking so long. There's a bat in our house."

Two Immediate Thoughts:

1. Can I pretend that he didn't say that and go sit down with a glass of wine and watch SVU.

2. ALL the curse words.

To Catch a Predator Bat Predator

Googled instructions on "how to get a bat out of your house and out of your life" in hand, we ventured down into the basement where the bat was last seen. But not until I found the largest hat in our house because I am pretty sure that bats like hair.

Creeping around the basement with an iPhone flashlight, and fully clothed but wrapped in a towel for some reason, I was beyond terrified. Still, my loving husband had the nerve to say to me, "He's more scared of us than we are of him."

Oh really? I doubt it. I don't have rabies. I can't speak for that bat. Also, who says the bat is a guy. Sexist much? Gosh, Glen…

Fast forward five more minutes and my big strong husband and I were both anxiously looking behind every nook and cranny of the basement hoping to find and desperately hoping NOT to find this little devil rat with wings. Both of shaking with justified fear.

Then I decided it was important that I stand guard by the open basement door to make sure that a fisher cat didn't come in through our proposed bat escape route… I think this is what we call an irrational fear spiral.

Up to Bat

As I stood on fisher cat guard I accidentally found the bat hanging out like he owned the joint up on the top of the wall. "GLEN (in a harsh whisper). I found…the bat."

Glen, geared up in gloves, holding a trash bag and my least favorite Tupperware, got ready to scoop the bat. I blocked the stairs leading up to the living room to make sure the bat didn't escape the wrong way, all the while giving myself a mafia pep talk. "Protect the family, Becca. PROTECT THE FAMILY!"

The bat DID NOT want to be scooped, though. He wriggled his angry little body out of the Tupperware and starting flying laps around the basement while I alternated between nervous laughter and yelling "AHHHHHHHH!"

Glen's reaction was WAY better though. It was like he was in a cage match with the bat, chasing it around the basement with a blanket while simultaneously trying just as hard not to be anywhere near the bat. To paraphrase the audio from this encounter:

EXPLETIVE! AHHHH! EXPLETIVE! AHHHH!!! I GOT ITTTT!!!!!!!!!

Then he proceeded to drag the pile of blankets and towels covering the bat out the door into the pouring rain while I cheered enthusiastically , "You're doing it! YOU'RE DOING IT!"

As soon as the blankets were flipped outside, Glen slammed the basement door. And locked it. Just in case bats are vengeful and have opposable thumbs.

Bat Sh** Crazy

Then we did what we always do. Laugh. Hysterically. Especially when Glen turned to me and said…

"I'm Batman."

The night was capped off with a glass of Pinot and a jar of Nutella. Because when a bat tries to accost your family you need all the wine. And all the Nutella. And all the laptops because you're going to need to write this story down.

- Becca Carnahan

Becca Carnahan is a mom of two small humans, wife to one very patient husband, career coach, writer and a humor enthusiast. You can find her blogging at With Love and a Little Self-Deprecation, tweeting @with_love_becca, and posting "Home Alone" references on Facebook.