Got Bats?

A hotline to bats. What could go wrong?

Chester sat on the carpet. Dog toy in mouth. Diligently awaiting the first official day of Got Bats.

“Well, Chester,” said Larry. “Seven months of planning has led to this. We’ve advertised. We’ve networked. Phone lines are ready to be flipped on. Time to solve the good people of southern Missouri’s bat problems.”

Chester licked his toenail for posterity.

Larry plugged in a long wire to connect the hotline. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang.

Larry jumped off his stool. “This is it, Chester.”

He picked up the phone. “Hello, Got Bats. This is Larry speaking.”

An elderly voice came through the speaker. “Yes, Larry. Oh thank God you picked up. I’ve got bat problems.”

“Not to worry, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. What kind of trouble are you having?” Larry said, sliding a notebook from his messenger bag.

“Oh, they’re everywhere, Larry. All over my house. The attic, my cupboards.”

“Your cupboards?”

“Everywhere. I’ve caught a few with those snap traps, but I still see their droppings.”

“You caught a bat with a snap trap?”

“Yes, I baited it with cheese and peanut butter like they say.”

“Ma’am, are you talking about mice? Do you have a mice problem?”

“Bats mice. What are you trying to prove? They’re both rodents.”

“Ma’am I apologize, we’re set up for bat control issues. You’ll have to call an exterminator.”

“Ah, help me, Larry. I see one now. It’s chasing my cat. Oh, it’s in my hair.”

Larry hung up and sighed. “False alarm, Chester. Just a prankster getting their jollies in.”

The phone rang again.

“Hello Got Bats. Larry speaking.”

The same elderly voice came through. “You’re not gonna believe this, Margaret. I just pranked that Got Bats fella. Anyway, I’ll tell you about it over bridge. Call me back if you get a chance.”

“Ma’am, this is Larry again from Got Bats. I think you accidentally called us.”

“Oh. Well thank God, Larry. The bat mice have begun dumping out all of my cereal boxes. I don’t know how I’ll cross into the kitchen without getting my socks dirty. The horror. The crunch. The crumbs.”

He cut her off and let out another sigh. “Don’t worry, Chester. Just a bit of a rocky start.”

Three hours passed. Chester finished a bone he’d been gnawing on. Shards were spread throughout the carpet. He began working on one of Larry’s shoes.

The phone rang.

“Got Bats. Larry here. How may we be of service?”

“Help, help there’s a duck on my back!”

“A duck?”

“Yes, its beak is wet. Oh, no. Plea—”

Larry hung up. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Another ring.

“Yes, Got Bats. Please tell me you’ve got a bat problem.”

“Ever since I moved to Gotham City, there’s been nothing but problems.”

Larry hung up and stared at the receiver.

“Maybe we just should have done that fishing podcast we talked about.”

See you soon,

— Ricky C.