Catch That Bat! (10 page)

After a minute or two, Terry said, ‘I can’t seem to hold the box still and hammer in a nail at the same time.’

Tom and Sophie looked at each other.

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Sophie said.

Both Tom and Sophie leapt on to the lowest branch of the tree and pulled themselves up to the next branch and then the next and the next. In a few seconds, they were eye to eye with Terry.

‘We’re pretty good at climbing trees,’ Sophie said.

Terry smiled. ‘Very handy. Tom, you hold the bottom of the box. Sophie, you hold the top.’

Tom moved around to the other side of the tree. Then both Tom and Sophie leant forward, each putting one arm around the tree trunk and the other on the bat box, holding it in place while Terry gently tapped nails into the bottom and sides.

‘Done,’ said Terry.

He started to climb down the ladder.

When he reached the ground, he was startled to see Tom and Sophie standing on the towpath, waiting for him.

‘We’re good at climbing down trees too,’ Sophie explained.

Tom glanced up at the bat box. ‘So what happens now?’

‘Well, it depends,’ Terry said. ‘There’s no point us staying here. The bats won’t arrive till it’s dark. Truth is, the best thing we could do is . . . build another box!’

‘Really?’ Tom said.

Terry nodded.

‘Cool!’ Tom exclaimed.

‘Did you have much wood left?’ Terry asked.

‘Loads,’ said Sophie.

‘The more boxes we can put up there,’ Terry said, ‘the more chance we have of attracting Pat’s mum. We should put up maybe three or four, at different heights and facing different directions.’

Tom, Sophie, Terry, Grandad and Mr Nightingale built another two boxes that evening. Terry, Tom and Sophie managed to fix them both to the same tree trunk before it became too dark to see.

‘OK,’ Terry said, climbing down the ladder. ‘Now let’s get out of here. We don’t want to scare any bats off.’

Tom, Sophie and Terry walked down the towpath and stood next to a bush at least thirty metres away.

Terry turned his bat detector on. It was dusk and the outline of the tree with its bat boxes sticking out was visible in the distance.

Tom and Sophie had brought their special torches. They switched them on and two reddish beams shot through the grey evening light.

Half an hour passed. Nothing happened.

Then Terry’s bat detector made a scuffling, shuffling sound.

‘Daubenton’s,’ whispered Tom and Sophie.

A few bats gathered by the bridge. They swooped down towards the canal, skimmed across the surface of the water and took off again.

‘I think that one caught three midges at once,’ Tom said, training his beam on the third bat as it vanished into the sky.

More bats gathered. They also tracked across the water, scooping up insects with their claws and pouches.

Sophie shone her torch on the lowest bat box and then on the other two.

‘They’re ignoring the boxes,’ she said with a sigh.

‘Give them a chance,’ said Terry.

‘There! Look!’ Tom whispered. He was holding the beam of his torch on the lowest box.

A bat was scuttling up the ladder and sniffing at the bottom of the box.

‘Go on, go on, go on,’ urged Terry.

But the bat pushed itself off and disappeared into the night.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Sophie.

Over the course of the evening, a couple more bats inspected the bat boxes but neither ventured inside.

‘We’ll come back tomorrow,’ Terry said. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about tomorrow.’

‘But how much longer do we have,’ Sophie asked, ‘before Pat’s mum forgets who Pat is?’

‘Lots of time,’ said Terry. But his voice sounded flat and he had a worried expression on his face.

Tom and Sophie followed Terry back to
The Ark
, feeling frustrated.

‘We’ll just have to build more boxes,’ said Tom, ‘and put them on every tree on the canal. Until there’s nowhere else for the bats to land. That’s GOT to work.’

Sophie nodded slowly, trying to hide her gloominess.

‘Let’s go and give Pat her dinner,’ she said.

Chapter 9

The next evening, Tom and Sophie went to Grandad’s houseboat as usual. They were surprised to see that Terry was already there. Pat’s box was also on the kitchen table.

‘What’s Pat doing out of the darkroom?’ Sophie asked. ‘It’s not time for her to go to sleep yet.’

‘It’s only temporary,’ said Grandad. ‘Terry has some exciting news.’

‘Pat’s going to come with us tonight,’ Terry said.

‘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.’