Equipped with a towel, I stalked the little brown bat. When it flapped up the stairwell, my cat Jerry chased after. Sighing, I slowly trudged up the steps, hoping the wee creature didn’t decide to come back down to fly a few more rounds in the dining and living room.

In the upstairs hallway, I found Jerry leaping at the flying rodent as it looped back and forth overhead. Prepared to swat it out of the air as it flew past me, I readied the towel in hand. I swung too soon, and the towel barely touched the bat. It fluttered close to the floor but quickly recovered.

I grumbled, “It’s been such a long time since I last had a bat in my house. I’m losing my touch!” When I swung the towel the second time, I knew I had once again jumped the gun. To make up for my haste, I lunged forward and knocked the bat to the floor.

The minute I lunged forward, I knew my body was not prepared to make that type of movement. Searing pain in both of my calves made me gasp. Despite the pain, I had a mission to complete. The stunned bat lay on the carpet in front of me. The creature still needed to be put outside. I picked it up using the towel like a potholder. Recovering his senses, the little beastie inside the folds of fabric chattered and hissed angerly.

I slowly made my way back downstairs with tears in my eyes because each step hurt so much, and out onto the back deck where I opened the towel and flapped it in the night air. Freed from the folds of cloth, the winged animal flew away, quickly disappearing into the darkness.

As I prepared for bed I mused, “What in the world did I do to myself tonight? Did I tear tendons, ligaments, or maybe damaged calf muscles?” Since it was midnight, I crawled into bed hoping that all I needed was a good night of sleep. “Hopefully rest will mend whatever was wrong with my legs.”

The next morning, I slowly eased myself down the stairs and into the kitchen. Each step I took pulled painfully at the back of my legs. I complained to my daughter, Tammie, “Last week, I tripped on the vacuum cord. Yesterday I hurt myself swinging a towel at a bat. What in the world is going on with me? I’ve walked, vacuumed, and captured bats for decades and never had a problem. Is this part of getting older? If it is, it’s happening too soon! I’m not old yet.”

My daughter suggested with a chuckle, “Maybe you just need to do a few stretching exercises before doing things like playing jump rope with the vacuum cord or stepping up to bat bats.”

I grumbled, “Very funny. If you’re wondering how I’m getting around today, just picture Tim Conway on the Carol Burnett show when he played a little old man in the skits. He’d shuffle only an inch or two forward with each step and he never bent his knees or ankles!”

After talking to Tammie, I decided to amuse myself by looking at Instagram on my phone. One of the first postings I came across was a man who explained that when he was young, he ran full marathons back-to-back on weekends without the slightest strain to his body.

He glumly admitted, “Last month, someone called my name, and when I turned to see who it was, my back blew out and I now need to wear a brace whenever I’m upright.”

The man exclaimed, “Then, last week when I was driving the car, I pulled up to a stop sign and when I turned my head to check traffic, I gave myself whiplash! Now I’m wearing a neck brace.”

He sadly confessed with a sigh, “I suspect I’m one fart away from total paralysis.”

I laughed, but not too hard. Who knows how much damage a hearty belly laugh could do? I commiserated, “I feel your pain buddy! I’m feeling rather fragile right now, too.”