A Better House

I hang upside down in a barn on the edge of Ashford, and in August the humans took the roof off it.

They had ladders and a radio. All day: bang, bang, radio. I waited in my dark corner for them to stop. They did not stop for eleven days.

So I searched. This is harder than it sounds. A bat needs somewhere high, dry, dark, and quiet, and I looked at several places.

The church tower: high, dry, dark. Then at nine o'clock the bell rang nine times, one meter from my head. No.

The old tree by the road: I tried a low branch. It rained all night. Rain matters to a bat. A cat sat under the tree for two hours and looked up at me. Cats don't mind rain. I didn't react. Cats want you to react.

The nights are colder now. A bat can't search forever.

So I went back to the barn. The humans were gone, the radio was gone, and the new roof was red and very straight. And there, under the top of it, was a long, warm, dark gap. About one bat wide.

They worked all summer and built me a better house. Nobody says thank you to humans.

Thank you.