Like a teatray in . . . my house

Well, not in the house, per se, but on it. I was working, as usual, in my office, with the bright summer sun and green trees outside my windows. I looked up, and not six feet away, in broad daylight, a bat is clinging to the screen of the back porch.

At first I thought, "Rabid. Gotta be rabid. I've never seen a bat out in the day." But he slowly crawled his way to discrete, shaded corner of the screen frame, curled himself up, and didn't move from the spot for the rest of the day. I'm guessing that something had disturbed him from his usual roost, and he had just happened to bumble upon our porch. Which makes sense, since our porch is the closest thing to a cave for fifty yards around.

So, once again, I find myself on the phone with customers, trying to solve some technical problem, while some local wildlife is leaving me completely distracted. Half a dozen times I came close to saying, "There's a bat outside my window," and each time I have to supress the urge, figuring that no good came come from such a comment. Customers might think I'm distracted from their issues, or wonder just how far out in the boondocks I live, or (don't laugh) see it as some kind of omen. "No, really, the Wikipedia says bats are a symbol of longevity and happiness... Mr. Customer? Hello?"