By “webbed creature,” I mean you, bat.
Angie, the young lady you quite nearly made piss herself (she might have) a.k.a. my roommate, has named you Brenda. You don’t deserve it, but she’s too compassionate for her own good. And, if we’re being honest, though I haven’t seen you in person (in bat?), you are pretty cute.
But it doesn’t matter…
You’ve still managed to run my roommates and me out of our house. It’s because of you that poor Wellesley has had to sleep, curled up alone in each of our beds, meowing, eating, biding his time. A tragedy. I hope you’ve, at the very least, befriended him. If nothing else, you’ve spiked his curiosity. What is this winged, hoof-less pig defying gravity? Because apparently our cat is familiar with pigs and the concept of gravity but not bats.
Look, you’re probably dead by now. The animal control guys told us you wouldn’t last more than three days. It’s sad really. We may have saved you had you revealed yourself again, but alas! You granted us one appearance, leaving Angie with nothing but nightmares, moist sheets, and possibly rabies—care to pay for the shots she’s now having to withstand? Did you know she can’t drink alcohol for nine months because of you? Because of your GERMS? Well, if you know Angie like I do, you know she will not abide by that. If something happens to her, we’re suing your corpse.
Listen, by the time I finally get home tonight, you better be gone—dead or alive. Either way, we’re selling your body at our yard sale tomorrow and asking for enough cash to pay for the medical bills. Not to mention, the landlord has been making us pay your rent… You could, at least, pitch in some green. And by “green,” I mean drugs. Just kidding. I don’t do drugs. No, really. I don’t. But do you? Have any on you?