Los Murcielagos

As some readers (especially Jim) know, I am fascinated by rats. This is thanks to the skills of our ratter cat Pumpkin. No need to go into details (feel free to call or email if you want to chat), but the more rats you see captured, killed, munched and crunched (yes, those bones are quite crunchy), the more the disgust level decreases and the whole intriguing circle-of-life thing takes over.

So when I reported last time that our roofs had an infestation of flying rats (bats, or murcielagos) and that Pumpkin was delighted, I admit that I was looking forward to the show. They seem to fly through the house a lot less now that it is occupied, but one will occasionally zing past our heads at dusk. They’re still in the roof – below the metal that provides rain run-off and above the cane ceiling that runs above our heads – and Pumpkin continues to stalk them.

Yesterday morning there was blood on the tile downstairs and a tiny heart and a single forearm (with hooked digit used for hanging) next to our bedroom stand. This is Pumpkin’s specialty – eat both the outsides and innards including fur/bones/organs/teeth, but leave something for his masters. This is the reason you want your cats inoculated against rabies before you bring them to Nicaragua.

The night prior to Pumpkin’s bat dinner I had banged on the rafters with the long pole we use to scoop leaves from the pool. The bats are in our bedroom rafters, which extend out past the balcony outside our bedroom. It was out there that I was banging because of the commotion. After about twenty seconds, a bat flew out and into the open. I believe it was a case of coitus interruptus, because he flew in a less jagged path than usual, as though there was a rudder involved.

This was my only success at flushing them out so far. Other times I have banged inside the bedroom when the noise level got too high, but they would just be silent for thirty seconds then continue the party.

Why are the bats partying in the rafters at night? Why aren’t they flying at that time? Is it mating season, since the scurrying seems to imply a ritualistic dance of some sort? Dunno. They don’t seem to mind the occasional pounding of their homes, and we sleep with earplugs anyway because of the banging of cathedral bells. So it looks like we’re going to co-exist for awhile.

-- Paul