Posthuman Blues

Winged mammal alert

I live on the top floor of an apartment highrise originally built in 1928. If you look carefully, the flowered decorations of the original masonry can be seen protruding through multiple layers of paint, a fading veneer of elegance. Tonight when I exited the elevator I saw what I originally thought was some sort of massive insect clinging to the Victorian trim above the door to my apartment. I took a closer look. It wasn't a bug; it was a roosting bat. How's that for Gothic?

I called a friend with experience caring for wild animals and she referred me to a bat expert. I attempted to catch the bat in a bath-towel, but it took off and flew soundlessly up and down the short hallway, grazing my head. I gave up trying to herd the bat into my towel and took some pictures of it in flight, then phoned the apartment's front desk. With any luck, they'll call the bat expert whose number I left on the answering machine. If not, it's only a matter of time until the old woman next door sees the bat and has a damned heart attack. (She once about lost her mind at the sight of Burroughs, my now-deceased ferret. A flying, taloned thing with pointed ears and sharp teeth might push her totally over the edge.)