I remember way back to my first night living offcampus by my university, a couple bats got into the house. I'm from a big city, actually the biggest city in the US so I've never encountered bats in their natural habitats so close to home (uni was a few hours away). I was the first one who moved in, so I was alone. It was night. All lights were off except my computer screen where I was doing... research.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot flashes of quickly moving darkness in the hallway. Once I make sure I'm not just having a seizure, I look intently into the hallway, narrowly escaping decapitation by bats. Panicked, I turned on the lights in my room, and the hallway. I run into one of my housemate's room for his katana - one of the only things he had moved in thus far, and quickly retreat to my room-turned-fort/bunker/military headquarters to plot my attack plan. I dressed in combat gear - sweats, hoodie - hood up, all tucked in with gloves and boots on. Those flying bastards would not creep into my clothing if I could help it. I grabbed the thick end of my billiards cue (the screwy 2-piecer) in my non-katana hand and went behind enemy lines ready for war. I spent a while crouched shuffling to the other rooms in the house, turning on lights and tvs everywhere I went, expertly avoiding detection.

Then came time to go downstairs to liberate the living room, where we had strategically made a table out of a piece of plywood balanced a several mini-fridges stocked with god nectar, microbrews and imports in colloquial terms. I ninjawarriored my way down the steps like an assassin caterpillar, swung the cue in such an expert way as to flick on the lightswitch, and creeped my way in. The haphazard layout of our couches coupled with my surging adrenaline resulted in a painful toe stub. Several swings of the cue turned on the lights and the several ceiling fans (this was a nice place), illuminating the combat zone and providing me much needed air support by means of buffeting winds and spinning scythes of metallic batdoom. I called in cacophonous televised reinforcements to secure the area - ESPN while I moved on to the kitchen. Our Shangri-La of sacred god tears - scotch and whisky, colloquially. Vive la Imbibecion.

Suddenly swooping brown bodies leaving skidmarks in the air assailed me. I reach out to my samurai ancestors to wield my blade in quick, expert, decisive strokes but only found Caucasians resulting in I'm sure, the bats feeling as Don Quixote attacking giants guised in windmill camouflage. Those rapid fuckers attacked and retreated in guerrilla efficiency, leaving me to nurse my pride and adjust my strategy. My current level wasn't sufficient to deal with those infiltrators, so I powered up to super hero status in the vacated kitchen off hardened, concentrated 18 year old god nectar. Round 2 bitches.

Superhero walking in the general direction the bats escaped in, I found myself walking back up the stairs, katana and cuebatclobber at the ready. Rechecking the rooms I eventually established their location as being another housemate's as of yet unclaimed room. Got you fuckers. Turning on the light in his room I saw winged feces spiraling witlessly around the perimeter. With the quickness of all the gods of imagination and schizophrenia I swung the door closed, effectively trapping the devious guerrilla house rapists in what I later found out was their point of insertion. I won.

Interestingly enough a few weeks later a housemate and I were superheroing our way home from a bar and found a stray kitten which we decided to bring back to the house and put in the same insertion point room, now claimed by another housemate. A day later, after pooping and peeing all over that room, we released the kitten. She looked chubby so she was doing well enough that nonsuperhero us's thought it was prudent to let her free. Well a few weeks after that I nearly got a heartattack as I was stepping onto our back porch to grill some steak and saw skidding furballs seemingly assailing me. Turns out the chubby kitten was in fact an adulterous cat who spawned a litter and brought it back to our house. So I took her and the pack in, fed them, and put them into my housemate's room - the same bat insertion point and kitten oasis as before. Eventually the kittens got adopted out and everything turned out great for everyone. Although that housemate whose room was the bane of our house did end up breaking my hookah and consistently drinking a lot of my god nectar...

See, that factual story includes both bats and cats. All it needs are boobs to be a modern Homerian epic.

Now we are complete