Not nearly ready to stand at the ready — with brooms and mouse traps — like my mother and twin sister — I hid —  and watched — mostly — from under the couch.

My mother had on her heaviest winter coat — in the middle of summer — and yellow rubber kitchen gloves —  sopping wet.

My twin sister looked spacey — like an alien — with that old wicker basket — covering her head — strategically secured with duct tape.  My duct tape.  That’s my neon blue duct tape!

I could hardly barely speak with those two scarves wrapped around my neck — squeezed so tight — under the couch — in the living room — hands full of garlic — like grenades, I thought.

Mosquitoes here are always bad — snakes are worse — but that hellafied summer — we had bats.  Tons of bats.  Millions of bats.  A house full of bats — it seemed.

Actually —  it was just  three.

And I named them Ding, Ling and Shirley.