Fruit bats are neat. Something about the delicacy of their wing membrane has always disturbed me. When they fold up their arms and shroud themselves it gives the impression it’s on the cusp of tearing.

They don’t navigate by echolocation, but they’re good at smelling smells.

The other evening I brought some beer over to my friend Tony’s house and we were visited by a demonic creature of the night.  We had to get it outside before his wife returned, because she has a fear.

It was a playful bat, and it kept going from room to room and back again, finding its way upstairs despite our protestations. Tony eventually herded it with a feather duster toward the door.  It was all very exciting.