Shahar Madjar, MD

Show me a man who can’t tell a story about an encounter with a wild animal and I will show you a man as boring as a boiled egg.

To be clear, I mean a tale about a gigantic whale, a hovering eagle, a threatening tiger, a butterfly as translucent as light itself and as colorful as the rainbow. Any animal story is better than no story, and here is mine:

On a Saturday, at 6 a.m., my wife informed me that there was an unwelcome guest in our house. She saw it in the living room, she said, and then in the kitchen. It moved fast, back and forth, and in circles. “It is black, and small, and looks like a mouse, but has wings and therefore it flies,” she said without taking in any air. I immediately realized, even though I was half asleep with only one of my eyes open, that the situation was dire. She then said, “One way or another, I want this thing out of my house.”

One way was to call a professional, an exterminator. And I am a great believer in seeking help, specifically professional help. I expect my patients, for example, to seek my advice when they have a kidney stone. But it was six o’clock in the morning, on a Saturday–a time when, I imagined, all exterminators were sound asleep.

Besides, my wife was expecting me to solve such minor problems, flying or stationary, by myself. 

I walked into the living room and saw the beast calmly resting on our curtains. It seemed unperturbed, hanging upside-down. I kept a safe distance from the beast and clapped my hands (no response). I vigorously waved my hands and stomped my feet in a rite of spring (no response). I loudly sang “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” mainly to calm my nerves, I admit, and still, there was no response. I then just waited quietly and, out of its own volition, the beast took off and flew around the room, in circles, as if my house was a cave, and I was a caveman. Using the power of deduction and some knowledge I had gained from Discovery Channel, I quickly realized that the beast was a bat. I called it “Batty.”

Before I tell you Batty’s story, here is what I have learned: Bats are the only mammals that can truly fly. They constitute one fifth of Earth’s total mammalian population. There are 1,200 species of bats. Some bat species eat insects, others eat fruits, and Vampire bats feed on blood. Bats aren’t “blind as a bat,” they can see quite well. In the dark, even in complete darkness, bats use echo-location–sending out sound waves from their mouth or nose, and listening to the echos that bounce back from objects such as insects and cave walls to catch their prey and to find their way around. The Mexican free-tailed bat is the fastest animal on Earth with a flying speed of 99 mph. Bats are the natural reservoir of many pathogens including Rabies and COVID-19.

And back to my story: On that Saturday, I decided to catch the bat, Batty, and release it to freedom. I didn’t have a butterfly net. Looking for inspiration in my garage, I found a United States Postal Service box. The box seemed to be the ideal bat-catching device–it was light and easy to carry around with small, oblong openings, one on each side, serving as handles. Once this box is turned over, I thought, it could easily contain any imaginable danger.

When I returned to the living room, holding the box, Batty was resting quietly on the carpet. I approached it carefully and turned the box upside-down over it (no response). I then ran to the kitchen to fetch a pizza peel which I would gently slide between the carpet and the box in order to trap the bat. But when I came back, Batty was no longer there. It must have escaped through the small openings in the United States Postal Service box. Batty outsmarted me, I thought. It was a scary thought.

Later that Saturday, I saw Batty sprawling on a small area rug, close to a door that opens to our backyard. I sealed the openings on the sides of the box with duck tape and carefully turned the box over Batty. I opened the door, and pulled the trapped bat outside. I turned the box over. Batty lifted into the air and flew away, a dark mouse with wide wings disappearing into the Marquette sky.

Editor’s note: Dr. Shahar Madjar is a urologist at Aspirus and the author of “Is Life Too Long? Essays about Life, Death and Other Trivial Matters.” Contact him at smadjar@yahoo.com.