Funny Stuff

Our Canada - - Contents - Mar­i­lyn Ma­jor,

Ev­ery­one has an un­for­get­table holiday tale to share, and we are no ex­cep­tion. For years, we had use of a rus­tic, one­room cedar cabin in the Okanagan Val­ley of Bri­tish Columbia. You know the type—drafty and creaky with a saggy sofa bed, an out­house out back, and water buck­ets you had to haul up­hill from the lake. No crea­ture com­forts, but the semi-desert scenery and peace­ful set­ting made up for that lack. Cer­tainly beat tent­ing!

June was al­ways the best time to visit, be­fore the op­pres­sive heat of sum­mer kicked in and school was let out. Un­for­tu­nately, June was also hatch­ing time for larva win­ter­ing in­side the walls and un­der the ex­ten­sive base­ball cap dis­play hang­ing from the rafters. One night the cabin turned into a killing field when dozens of moths, the size of golf balls, hatched at the same time! Ev­ery night was a swat­ting con­test with what­ever hap­pened to come our way. We were re­signed to ex­pect mosquitoes, moths and tiny mice, but not bats!

We had just turned out the lights and set­tled onto our creaky sofa bed for the night, when— Whoosh!—a puff of air blew past my face. My gut feel­ing told me this was no moth.

“Bats!” I shouted, reach­ing for the light.

Sure enough, a tiny brown bat was cir­cling the room with dizzy­ing speed. We each grabbed a fish­ing net from the wall, but only suc­ceeded in knock­ing ev­ery- thing off the coun­ter­tops. Af­ter sev­eral min­utes, we were ready to give up. Then in a rare flash of in­spi­ra­tion I said, “Why don’t we just open the door and let him fly out?”

Ear­lier that same day, while out for a walk, a young cat had fol­lowed us home and was now camped out on our front porch. We had no doubt what was go­ing through his mind with the bright light and yelling com­ing from in­side the cabin—“party! Yeah!”

The cat needed no in­vi­ta­tion and darted right in. He caught sight of the bat and the chase was on. He leaped to the ta­ble, onto the book­case and across the coun­ter­tops, twist­ing and turn­ing in all di­rec­tions, try­ing to catch the bat. I was screech­ing and so was the bat. Af­ter five fran­tic min­utes, the bat fi­nally flew out the open door with the cat in hot pur­suit. We thought that was the last we’d see of Mr. Bat!

Not so. The next night the bat vis­ited us again, this time with less drama. The fol­low­ing morn­ing we did a search of the cabin’s ex­te­rior to see where he was get­ting in, but turned up noth­ing. My ea­gle-eyed hubby later found the bat on the in­side of the cabin, flat­tened be­tween two up­right cor­ner pieces, bliss­fully asleep. We could now see where he had been en­ter­ing ev­ery morn­ing. Af­ter he left that night, we sealed up the crack with old news­pa­pers. We were wo­ken at day­break by fran­tic scratch­ing on the out­side wall— it was our lit­tle “friend,” try­ing to get back in. Sorry, buddy, this room is taken!

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Canada

© PressReader. All rights reserved.