Catch That Bat!

by Adam Frost

  ‘Cool. How come?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Because there are lots of bats in the area,’ Terry said, ‘really close to our bat boxes.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Tom exclaimed.

  ‘And are they . . . ?’ Sophie stammered. ‘I mean, could they be . . . ?’

  ‘They’re Daubenton’s,’ Terry said. ‘Of course, Pat’s mum might not be one of them. And even if she is, the bats might not roost in our boxes. But still . . .’

  Sophie smiled. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I’m coming with you!’ Grandad declared. ‘This I’ve got to see!’

  Grandad and Terry packed everything they needed into a bag: gloves, torches, Pat’s food, the bat detector and Grandad’s old-fashioned camera.

  Finally, they picked up Pat’s box from the kitchen table.

  ‘How’s she looking?’ Terry said, peering in.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Sophie, smiling down into the box.

  Pat was peering up at Terry and Sophie, digging her wings into the bottom of the box and lifting herself up and along.

  Five minutes later, the four of them were striding along the towpath. They stopped about twenty metres away from the bat boxes. It was starting to get dark, but no bats were visible in the sky.

  ‘How do you know they’re around there?’ Tom asked.

  Terry shone his torch at a pile of droppings at the bottom of the tree.

  ‘Did you analyse them already?’ Tom asked.

  ‘They’re Daubenton’s all right,’ said Terry. ‘Full of moths.’

  ‘And midges?’ asked Tom.

  ‘And midges,’ confirmed Terry.

  Half an hour later, just after sunset, a group of bats started to swirl around the tree with all the bat boxes on. A few seconds later, even more bats joined them.

  Terry handed the bat detector to Sophie, who tuned it in.

  She nodded. ‘Daubenton’s.’

  Now there were lots of bats, maybe a hundred, maybe more.

  They broke off into smaller groups, some hovering over the canal, some ducking under the bridge, others continuing to glide between the trees. The bat detector was going crazy – it was already a blizzard of thuds and clicks.

  Tom and Sophie looked up and around – spellbound.

  ‘I’ve never seen so many bats in one place,’ Sophie whispered.

  ‘Let’s just hope they’re here to stay,’ murmured Terry, ‘and that Pat’s mum is one of them.’

  Grandad pointed his stick at the middle bat box. ‘There! And there!’

  A Daubenton’s bat was climbing into the box that faced the canal. Another was crawling into the bat box lower down the tree.

  ‘They’re roosting,’ Terry whispered excitedly.

  He turned to Tom and Sophie.

  ‘Ready for this?’

  ‘Ready for what?’ Tom replied.

  ‘We have to put Pat below the bat boxes,’ said Terry.

  Terry put on his gloves.

  Tom and Sophie looked at each other. Until now, they hadn’t fully realised what was about to happen. They both started to talk at the same time, then both stopped. Finally Sophie said, ‘Hang on – are we sure she’s strong enough?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tom added. ‘Has she had enough milk today?’

  ‘Maybe we should wait,’ said Sophie. ‘I’m sure her wing hasn’t completely healed.’

  Terry looked at Tom and Sophie with a smile. He put one arm around Tom’s shoulder and one around Sophie.

  ‘It’s been quite a mission, hasn’t it?’ he said.

  Tom and Sophie nodded.

  ‘She’s a pretty incredible bat,’ he added.

  Tom and Sophie nodded again.

  He took the gloves off and held them out.

  ‘I think you should do this,’ he said.

  Tom and Sophie looked at each other. They thought for a few seconds.

  ‘She does belong with her mother,’ said Sophie.

  Tom sighed and nodded. ‘And if we do it, she won’t be scared,’ he said. ‘She does know us really well.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘I’ll carry the box. You handle her.’

  The two of them walked slowly and quietly towards the tree. Sophie put down the box as gently as she could.

  Tom put the gloves on and lifted Pat carefully out of the box, placing her carefully on a soft clump of moss. Pat wriggled slightly, turning herself around with her wings.

  Tom stroked her gently with a gloved finger and then stepped back. Both children stared at Pat for a few seconds; she was still so tiny, so helpless.

  ‘We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we?’ Sophie whispered.

  ‘I thought you knew,’ said Tom.

  Sophie bit her lip. ‘We’re doing the right thing,’ she said.

  They walked away. Sophie was holding the empty box. Tom was carrying Terry’s gloves.

  They returned to where Terry and Grandad were standing. Grandad was snapping away with his camera. Terry was tuning in his bat detector so he could listen to the Daubenton’s bats skimming across the canal.

  Tom and Sophie crouched down and both trained their torches on the patch of grass where Pat was lying. They could just about make her out: a small brown smudge on an even darker lump.

  Then Tom had a thought.

  ‘Can I borrow your camera, Grandad?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Of course!’ exclaimed Grandad, handing it over to his grandson.

  Tom held up the camera to his eye and pressed the zoom button, magnifying Pat twenty times. He was careful not to wobble the camera too much, as every time he did, he lost where Pat was and had to zoom out and locate her with the viewfinder again.

  ‘Is she still there?’ Sophie asked.

  Tom nodded.

  Grandad put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘What’s that up there?’ he asked. ‘Can you zoom in on it, Tom?’

  Tom pointed the camera upwards and zoomed in.

  Terry squinted. ‘Blast, it looks like an owl.’

  Tom squinted through the viewfinder. ‘It is an owl,’ he said.

  ‘Describe it,’ Terry said.

  ‘I can only just make it out in this light,’ said Tom. ‘Round face. Reddish brown feathers. Whiter feathers on its chest.’

  ‘Damn it,’ said Terry, ‘it’s a tawny owl.’

  ‘Why’s that so bad?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Because tawny owls eat bats, you dimwit,’ said Sophie. ‘Especially baby bats. We’ve got to get Pat out of there.’

  ‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Grandad, holding her back.

  ‘Let go, Grandad,’ said Sophie. ‘I’m not letting Pat get eaten.’

  ‘Look, the owl’s just circling at the moment,’ said Grandad, ‘and think about how owls hunt. They listen and they look. Now, Pat’s not making any noise. Not compared to all the mice and rats that are scurrying along the canal this evening. And she’s not moving either. Just sitting there on her patch of moss.’

  ‘Sorry, Grandad, it’s too dangerous,’ Sophie said, stepping forward.

  ‘Sophie,’ Grandad said, ‘I know it’s hard to say goodbye to Pat. But she doesn’t belong with you and me. She belongs out there.’

  Sophie looked up at him.

  ‘Give her a chance,’ said Grandad. ‘Let’s see how she does in the big wide world.’

  He squeezed Sophie’s shoulder and she nodded.

  ‘Keep the camera trained on that owl,’ said Terry. ‘Your grandad’s right. He’s unlikely to swoop, but let’s not take any chances.’

  Tom continued to point the camera up at the sky.

  Grandad and Sophie watched more Daubenton’s circling the tree and crawling into the bat boxes.

  ‘Do you think one of them is Pat’s mum?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Well, those bats knew that this was a good place for a roost,’ said Grandad. ‘Chances are they’ve been around here before.’

  Sophie glanced up at the sky again. ‘I still don’t trust that owl,’ she murmured.

  Then Tom said, ‘Did you hear th
at?’

  ‘Hear what?’ Terry and Grandad said.

  ‘It’s that fox again,’ Tom said. ‘I recognise its growl.’

  They all listened. ‘I hear it too,’ Sophie said. ‘OK, Grandad, it’s officially too dangerous. We have to get Pat.’

  ‘It does feel a bit dangerous out there,’ Terry said.

  ‘All of you need to calm down,’ said Grandad with a smile. ‘When you’re as old as me, you’ll realise that animals in the wild are surrounded by predators twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And, believe it or not, most of them make it through to bedtime.’

  ‘But Pat can’t even fly away,’ said Tom.

  They heard a scuffling behind them.

  ‘It’s the fox, it must be,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Just wait a second,’ said Grandad, ‘please.’

  Tom peered through the camera again. ‘The owl’s gone.’

  He paused and squinted again. ‘Oh no, he hasn’t. He’s seen something.’

  ‘Grandad, PLEASE let me get Pat,’ Sophie begged.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Grandad said, ‘and she’ll go on being fine.’

  Sophie was looking up at the sky and around at the undergrowth. She was convinced that the fox, the owl or maybe even a stray dog was on its way to swallow Pat whole.

  ‘Look,’ whispered Grandad.

  A bat had landed right next to Pat. They all shone their torches at the two bats. The combined light from all four torches made the grass glow red. Pat was twisting around to face the adult bat, who was manoeuvring itself next to her. Pat lifted up her tiny wings and flung herself on top of the adult bat. She fidgeted sideways, gripping with her wings.

  Then the adult bat flew off, with the tiny figure of Pat holding tightly on to her back.

  ‘Pat . . . Pat’s mum,’ Tom stammered.

  Sophie couldn’t move or speak. She just stared at the brown shape as it circled one of the bat boxes.

  ‘They found each other,’ said Terry. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘And you know what the best thing is?’ Grandad said. ‘She hasn’t gone far.’

  He nodded at the lowest bat box. Pat’s mum was clinging to the bottom, dragging herself inside.

  ‘You can come and see her whenever you want.’

  Sophie gave a sob of relief and delight.

  Tom handed Grandad the camera and said, ‘Owls are amazing, aren’t they? Let’s get into owls next!’

  Chapter 10

  The following morning, Tom and Sophie felt both happy and sad. Happy that Pat had found her mum; sad that Pat didn’t live on Grandad’s boat any more.

  They had got used to the routine of feeding Pat her milk and mealworms during the day and then bat-watching on Regent’s Canal at night.

  ‘It won’t be the same,’ said Tom, as he sat at the breakfast table and munched his cornflakes, ‘visiting Pat in a bat box.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Most of the time we won’t even be able to see her.’

  They went to their rooms and got ready for school. When they came back into the kitchen, Terry was waiting for them, chatting to their mum and dad.

  ‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ he said. ‘Which do you want first?’

  ‘Bad news,’ said Tom.

  ‘Good news,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Bad news, you dummy,’ said Tom. ‘Then the good news is a nice surprise.’

  ‘No, good news first,’ said Sophie. ‘Then the bad news doesn’t seem so bad.’

  ‘Well, it’s all good news really,’ said Terry. ‘First of all, Pat’s settled in nicely. No sign of her being rejected. She’s fitted in with all her aunts, uncles and cousins.’

  ‘That is good news, I suppose,’ said Sophie, smiling weakly.

  ‘To be honest, that was the bad news,’ said Terry, ‘because I know you miss Pat and secretly want to look after her again. The good news is going to make up for all that though.’

  Mr and Mrs Nightingale exchanged a glance and smiled.

  ‘The zoo’s got to move a group of nocturnal animals up to Whipsnade Zoo,’ said Terry.

  ‘Oh,’ said Tom.

  ‘We need to make sure they’re in safe hands,’ said Terry. ‘You know, PROPER experts.’

  ‘OK,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Usually we move nocturnal animals during the day,’ Terry said, ‘take them out of the Nightzone – which confuses them a bit, as they’re used to day being night and night being day. It would be nice if we could move them into a similar environment. Somewhere artificially dark.’

  Sophie had twigged and started to grin.

  ‘So we were looking around for some kind of darkroom,’ said Terry, ‘and for a group of people – you know, maybe a keeper, a vet and two young helpers – who might be able to escort the animals to Whipsnade.’

  Tom had cottoned on too and was also grinning.

  ‘We need to move an armadillo, a jumping rat and a slender loris,’ said Terry, ‘but what’s the best way of getting them to Whipsnade?’

  ‘Grandad’s barge!’ Tom and Sophie exclaimed together.

  Mrs Nightingale said, ‘We thought we could sail up this weekend. It’s a bank holiday so you don’t have to be in school till Tuesday.’

  ‘You’ll need to check them over every morning,’ Terry said, ‘give them their breakfast, change their bedding. Help your mum if they get sick. Help your dad with any training they need. Think you can manage it?’

  Tom and Sophie were too excited to speak, but they nodded very quickly.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Terry. ‘I’ll bring the animals around on Friday.’

  He said goodbye and walked off The Ark, leaving Tom and Sophie gobsmacked.

  Mr and Mrs Nightingale waited for the children to talk or move but nothing happened.

  ‘Maybe they’re both bats,’ said Mr Nightingale. ‘You know, they’re making noises but they’re too high-pitched for us to hear.’

  Then Tom and Sophie started to squeak with delight.

  ‘Definitely bats,’ said Mrs Nightingale with a smile. ‘Totally bats.’

  Zoological Society of London

  ZSL London Zoo is a very famous part of the

  Zoological Society of London (ZSL).

  For almost two hundred years, we have been

  working tirelessly to provide hope and a

  home to thousands of animals.

  And it’s not just the animals at ZSL’s Zoos in

  London and Whipsnade that we are caring for.

  Our conservationists are working in more than

  50 countries to help protect animals in the wild.

  But all of this wouldn’t be possible without your help.

  As a charity we rely entirely on the generosity of our supporters to continue this vital work.

  By buying this book, you have made an essential

  contribution to help protect animals.

  Thank you.

  Find out more at zsl.org

  Also by Adam Frost

  Stop! There’s a Snake in Your Suitcase!

  Run! The Elephant Weighs a Ton!

  More animal adventures with the Nightingale family coming soon!

  All of the animal facts in this story are true. Everything else is fiction. Any connection to any events that have taken place in London Zoo is purely coincidental.

  Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney

  First published in Great Britain in April 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

  This electronic edition published in April 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Manufactured and supplied under licence from the Zoological Society of London

  Text copyright © Adam Frost 2013

  Illustrations copyright © Mark Chambers 2013

  The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

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ke available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means

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  may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 4088 2961 5 (e-book)

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