It was almost dawn when I nearly stepped on a small bat lying on the city sidewalk. It was the size of a mouse with wings, stunned and supine, looking up at me angry and fearful. The bat must have flown into the window of a glass skyscraper the way birds do. The air in front of it had turned suddenly solid like invisible concrete, then it woke up on the ground.
I had thought bats navigated by sonar, but maybe he was fooled by an echo. Or maybe a high wind had buffeted him, whipping him off-course to meet up with his own reflection.
I stooped to look at him; we stared in each other's eyes. I couldn't believe how human the bat's face was: the nose, the forehead, the muscles drawn from the nostrils to the corners of the mouth in a slight quavering snarl... And those eyes ... The skull beneath the gray skin and dagger-pointed ears could have been a miniature of my own, rather than the elongated, rat-like snout and jaw I expected to see.
He looked a lot like Michael Jackson. And I don't mean that as an insult to Michael OR the bat. I think they're both probably really nice fellows.
Maybe it was just early and I was tired, but it all felt surreal. I pushed a finger close to it, jerking it away again when the bat responded with a frightened squeaky hiss.
I felt sorry for the poor bird-rodent, reclining in such a demeaning position, staring up at the sky in which it usually soared. It shot what looked like nervous glances at the sun that was beginning to peek over the high-rise horizon...
You don't suppose..? Naaaah.
I had a notion of keeping the bat until I was sure it was uninjured, or taking it to an animal shelter if need be.
It suddenly occurred to me that I might have a pet bat for a day. How cool I'd be at work! "What is this? Why, it's a bat--what does it look like? Oh, you know ... he's a friend. He's just hanging around with me till I take him to a wildlife rehabber and he feels better."
Perhaps I could even take a photo of myself, bat-on-shoulder, pirate-like, looking casual as could be:
Aarrh, matey!
I walked into a nearby building to ask for a cardboard box.
"There's a bat on the sidewalk outside," I told the man at the security desk.
He looked surprised for a moment, then he humored me in a pitying voice:
"Ohhhhhh. I see. It's okay, it's not going to hurt you. Don't worry, just go around it."
He made one hand into an upside-down peace sign and walked the two fingers around on his desk, just to make sure I understood the idea.
He obviously didn't believe me and thought I was stoned or psychotic. Maybe both.
Not willing to push the issue further, I left ... to find the bat gone. Lucky for me I hadn't dragged the watchman out to see it. I imagined the security guard whistling a policeman over, winking, then whispering, "He's seeing bats..."
The sun was bright now and I thought I saw a small shadow on the cement where my little friend had been.
You don't suppose..? Naaaah.
But bats--um, normal bats, that is--can't fly from the ground. They need to take to the sky from a perch.
Oh well. Maybe someone picked it up, or it scaled a rough concrete wall high enough to leap into the air. I don't know... and I never will.
But still...
It all felt just a little bit surreal.
I walked on, disappointed, the face of my pet bat still fresh in my foggy morning mind.
...with all apologies to Michael, who, as I said, is probably a nice guy.
Originally published... Nowhere. Everyone I know laughed their asses off at this, and it got tons of hits on my 'blog when I published it there. But, no matter how much I sincerely didn't want to insult MJ, I guess no editor wanted to take a chance. Hmph. Editors!