Batman Down

I wrestle with the sliding metal gate. It opens noisily. Stella comes out of the door that leads to the driveway. Is the bat okay? No, they murdered him. What? Oh, my God!What to do? What to do? Stella's face crumples in agony.

I open the balled kitchen cloth. Bat seems asleep. But in this sleep, there is no waking up. I caress his forehead. I notice it's now soft and hollow to the touch, as if something has been scooped out of his tiny head. He smells of antibiotic. Some of the caked white powder is visible under the skin of his furry chest.

I remember how the large needle pierced his right side, and liquid antibiotic oozed out of his body. The needle must have punctured the skin on the left side of his chest. The assistant vet just uttered, Ooppss! It came out! What to do?

I remember holding my breath, realising the futility of the moment, watching the head vet, who has now taken over, searching for some fluttering, for some minuscule indication of life. You mean he's dead? I ask, already knowing the answer. Yes, he's dead, there's no more heartbeat, he says pensively. He keeps on with his stethoscope for another minute.

Stella finds a stick and starts to dig the grave. It is shaded by a bush with beautiful tiny yellow flowers. I wrap the little fellow in coloured paper and mutter my goodbyes and prayers. Do bats go to heaven? I don't know. It's ready, Stella tells me. I lower him gently into his new home. Stella replaces the earth and I put pebbles on top of the mound. I break off a few woody branches of the flowering bush and make our offering.

Two days after, I discover bits of coloured paper strewn near the bat's grave.