Looking for someone to let you go

I'm not sure why I'm the one who gets called on when there's a wild animal on the loose -- maybe it's because people know I grew up on a farm, so they assume I'll know something about critters. It's a myth I don't mind perpetuating only because it's a convenient excuse when I'm an oaf... "Oh, oops. What do I know about etiquette, I grew up on a farm."

Anyway, I was called on when my friend's cat brought in the live mouse. I was called in when the lizard emerged from behind the picture frame in the hotel room in Mexico. I was the one the freshman girls came to when the bat came out of their fireplace in their dormroom. Believe me, in all cases I wanted to be standing on the bed squealing in terror too, and it's not like I actually have a clue how to proceed. In the case of the bat, I cornered it in the bathroom, and spent several heart-stopping minutes gently lifting each towel and robe from their hooks steeling myself for a flutter of membraneous wings in my face, before finding the poor creature flailing helplessly in the toilet bowl. I then donned winter gloves and plastic bags to pluck the thing out of the water and place it in a cardboard box to dry out before setting it out on the windowledge while it gnawed furiously at my finger with its sharp little rabid nippers. The other times mostly just involved a broom and some fancy dance moves.

Tonight was only upsetting because I felt so bad for the little critter. I got back from my jog and my roommate casually tells me, "there's a hummingbird stuck in the back room." He'd apparently tried to swat it gently out the window with a towel, but gave up for fear of injuring the little thing or forcing it to expend its energy and sputter out. I know they can fly non-stop across the Gulf of Mexico and all, but they sure seem fragile. Especially when tapping lightly against the window glass or resting in the ficus chirping pitiably.

Fortunately one of the back windows isn't painted shut or jammed, so I pulled the top down, leaving the opening up near the ceiling. I then put a little red jar on the sill hoping it would be drawn by its resemblence to a feeder. After several more minutes of confused buzzing about, out it flew into the night. I hope the thing can see in the dark.

I'll take this as a sign that my apartment is lush and inviting. And thank god it wasn't a pigeon in the house; I'd have to install screens.