Rabies Alert

Ok folks, I'm back.  I have a final tomorrow, and since I feel sufficiently prepared (HA) I've decided to update my blog.  I don't know if anyone watches the Tyra show (I mean someone must watch it because she's still on the air), but apparently yesterday she acted rabid.  Literally rabid.  She claimed she had been bitten by a rabid dog and then she started foaming at the mouth.  I personally didn't witness this because I'm not home in time for the lesser 2pm talk shows, but I guess when you run out of things to do on a talk show, why not start acting like you need a tetanus shot?

This rabid model situation reminded me of an eerily similar "situation" that I endured last year when I lived at my old apartment.  I have oft referred to it as the "Half-Dead Bat Situation."  It was newly spring, meaning the earth was finally thawed, flowers were in bloom, my glow in the dark white legs were finally seeing the sunlight.  I ran some errands, and when I got home I walked up the stairs to go to my apartment.  I then noticed a black blob on my doormat.  My original glance made me think it was just the remnants of a plastic trash bag, but as I got closer I realized it was, in fact, a bat.  Now, I'd never even seen a bat since I moved to Columbia, so I was slightly shocked to not only see one, but to see one that had braved the light of day and met his untimely demise on my porch.  I stepped around him, and went inside to drop off my groceries.  I then devised a plan to dispose of my dead bat friend.  This plan involved a set of high-tech animal removal tools, also known as spatula that I would throw away, a Ziploc bag, and my oven mitt (protection from the killer rabies germs).  In my opinion, it was a highly sophisticated and fool-proof plan.

So, I go back outside with my Ziploc bag open, and my spatula ready to scoop.  Just as I've got the spatula under him and I'm ready to scoop him in, he flips his shit and starts flapping his wings in a panic.  At this, I LOSE it, start screaming and fling my spatula and Ziploc bag, which lands on his flailing body.  Still screaming and panicking, I decided it was a good idea to throw my oven mitt, which landed in the flower pot of the people across the hall.  I then skip inside, slam the door, and lock it (I'm not taking any chances that this asshat can turn doorknobs).  Still mildly alarmed, I looked out the peephole, before realizing that I wouldn't be able to see it because the bat wasn't 5 feet tall.  I carefully cracked open the door and saw him laying motionless on the doormat.  I crouched down and blew on him, and he flipped his shit again, to which I slammed the door again.

I called animal control to report my half-dead bat situation, and she asked me if it was rabid.  Um, I have no idea, I skipped the bat diseases class that talked about rabies.  Just kidding, I have never TAKEN a class called bat diseases because a) it doesn't exist and b) I don't care about bat diseases.  While I'm waiting for animal control, I occasionally check on Bruce Wayne to see if he's still there and half-dead, or if he has managed to come back to life, get away, and get reinforcements from his bat-friends.  Or maybe Robin would show up.

Anyway, finally the animal control woman arrives.  She uses tools equally as sophisticated as mine to trap the bat, taking a kitchen spoon and scooping him into a Folger's coffee can.  She then gives me the rundown of what will happen to Bruce (she didn't call him this, but I interrupted her and told her his name, at which point she looked at me like I had eyes on my forehead).

I stare at her in disbelief/mild disgust as she tells me that Bruce will be decapitated, and his head will be sent to a lab for rabies testing.  I could have done without the details, but in my infinite imagination, I picture an old-school execution, and I wonder if Bruce's executioner looks like this:

I Googled "executioner" and came across this well-built gentleman.  I find the thought of someone at Columbia Animal Control wearing this to behead bats and other rodents highly amusing.

The animal control lady then told me I should consider being tested for rabies.  Um, what?  Bruce didn't bite me.  I don't know the specifics of rabies (again, no bat diseases class), but I do know I never came in direct contact with Bruce.  I thanked her, and watched her tote off my little half-dead buddy.

I monitored myself closely the next few weeks, making sure I didn't become overly feisty, or start spewing foam out of my mouth.  Animal lady of course had me paranoid that I was going to lose it, and go Old Yeller on everyone.  But, alas, three weeks later, I got the phone call from animal control, informing me that Bruce was rabies free.  So, my half-dead bat was now full-dead, on account of the fact that his head was in some lab.  Sad.  Poor ending for that little guy.

RIP Bruce Wayne.

Look at that radiant smile.  Lights up a room.

In other news, today is Cherry's 1st Birthday!  Despite being a total idiot, she managed to make it a whole year.  Here's a shot of the birthday girl: