Do you hear what I hear?

For the past two nights I have been hearing noises in our house.

Squeaky bird like noises.  High pitched squeals.  A noise I really can't even describe.  But it was loud.   I was convinced there was something trapped in our fireplace.

My husband thought I was crazy.  Every few minutes I would hear this horrid noise and look at him, oblivious to all of it.  I'd be like "you didn't hear that?!" 

Nope.  Nothing.  Nada.

As the evening went on I became less and less concerned about what it was and more and more irritated that he didn't hear it.

I mean really, what is he, deaf?!

Last night I didn't notice it as much.  The husband claims he heard something, but he thinks its a cicada.  Seriously.  That is NOT a bug.  If you think that's what it is you are obviously not hearing the same thing I am.  But whatever.  Neither of us was brave enough to look in the fireplace so we continued to just live in ignorant bliss of what this mysterious noise was.

So this morning I woke up, got ready for work.

Walked down to the basement so I could post the blog I had originally planned for today.

And I see two piles of dog puke.

Lovely.

Then I noticed the rug at that bottom of the stairs is torn up.

Great. 

So first you destroyed my rug.  Ate it.  And then vomited it all over my stairs.

You're already on thin ice dog.  Don't push me over the edge.

I walk past the vomit.  Step over the torn up rug and go towards the computer.

(Yes I fully intended on posting my blog first, then cleaning up the mess.  Priorities people, priorities)

I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and stop.

First thought, its a piece of the rug.

Second thought, it's a bat.

Ding, ding, ding, ding.

Tell her what's she won Bob.....

One dead bat.

Gross.

And if you recall, this isn't the first bat we've found in our house.

I turn around calmly.  Step over the torn rug.  Walk past the vomit and go into the bathroom where the hubs was showering.

"Hun....I think I figured out what that noise was"

"Oh yeah....what?"

"A bat." 

"Why?"

"Because there's a dead one downstairs...."

"Awesome. Are you sure it's dead?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask it...."

He tells me he'll take care of it if I will clean up the dogs mess.  Fine by me.  I'll take puke over dead bats any day.  But now I ask myself, where the hell are these bats coming from.  How are they getting in?  Where do we live, Gotham City?  I start picturing thousands of bats living in our fireplace.  Or hiding out in the attic.  And do you know what my husband tells me.  The man who's been telling for days that I'm crazy because he doesn't hear a thing. 

"Oh I'm sure there aren't anymore.  Because if there were....we'd be able to hear them"

Really?!?  Maybe me and my apparently supersonic bat hearing, I'm not so sure about you.