wayward bats

"Something's in here." I said.
"I think you're right. I think it's a bat."
"Oh, my God! You have to get it out of here."
"Don't worry, I've done this before." he rolled off the side of bed onto his feet. "I need a broom, a trash bag and some rubber gloves."
"I'm not leaving this room."
"Tell me where they are again."
I explained the location of each item. My hero went about finding them in the dark. He emerged, all 6'4" of him, wearing boxers emblazoned with Chicago Cubs logos, my yellow dishwashing gloves, his red hair and freckles and brandishing a broom like a baseball bat.
"You stay in here." He closed the french doors behind him. I watched the bat fly crazily along my ceiling. My protector bent his knees slightly and swung the broom. Smack! Thud! The bat landed on my antique table. I screamed. My bat slayer picked him up and tossed him into the garbage bag.
"Do ya wanna see him?"
"No."
"Were you afraid he was going to attack you?"
"No. I was afraid he was gonna poo on my expensive stuff. Did he poo anywhere?"
"Naw, I don't see any bat poo."
"I am so glad you were here."

That was one of the best times of my life.