Catch That Bat! (9 page)

‘She wouldn’t
actually
kill you,’ Tom said.

‘She’s not that scary once you get to know her,’ Sophie said.

The three of them walked back to
The Ark
.

‘I’ll just drop in on your grandad, see how Pat’s doing,’ said Terry, ‘but shall we meet at the same time tomorrow?’

Tom and Sophie smiled and nodded.

‘Operation Find Pat’s Mum,’ said Terry. ‘End of Day One.’

Chapter 8

Tom and Sophie went out with Terry for the next six evenings. On the second evening, they accepted that there were no more Daubenton’s living on the canal, and after that Terry took them to search further afield. They explored nearby parks and nature reserves and city farms. They talked to vicars and explored church attics; they spoke with caretakers and searched through school lofts.

Everybody seemed keen to help them once they understood the nature of the mission.

Sometimes Tom and Sophie used the bat detector; sometimes they could identify the bats by their call or their size or the shape they made when they flew.

On the sixth evening, Terry bent over and examined some bat droppings in a graveyard. ‘Want to learn how to analyse bat poo?’ he asked.

Tom looked at Sophie and shrugged. Sophie shrugged back.

‘OK,’ they both said.

‘You can tell a lot about bats from their poo,’ Terry said, moving the droppings around with a long plastic stick, ‘because all bats have slightly different diets. For example, long-eared bats live in woodlands so they tend to eat more beetles and crickets. Daubenton’s like Pat live near water so they eat more moths and midges. You’ll often see the remains of these insects in their poo.’

‘There’s some poo over here,’ Tom said, crouching down and pushing a brown lump with a stick, ‘but I can’t see any insects in it.’

Terry glanced up. ‘That’s because it’s a dog poo, Tom.’

‘Oh, OK, right,’ Tom said, standing up quickly. ‘Thought it looked familiar.’

‘Each bat species also has different-shaped poo,’ said Terry. ‘Pipistrelle poo is just tiny dots. A Daubenton’s is twice as long and sort of curvy.’

‘So we need to look for curvy poo with midges in it,’ Sophie said.

‘Yep,’ agreed Terry.

He got down on his hands and knees and put his face right up against a few greyish streaks on a gravestone. He sniffed and put his little finger in it.

Tom knelt down beside Terry. Then Sophie sighed and knelt down next to Tom.

‘Hey, Soph,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll be in charge of this assignment. But you can be my number two if you like. Geddit? My number two!’

Sophie glared at Tom, and Tom stopped smiling.

At the end of the evening, after they had explored every tree and every poo in the Camley Street Nature Park, Terry sighed and wiped his forehead. ‘We’re running out of places to look.’

‘Are you saying we should give up?’ Sophie asked.

‘Not give up, but we might have to think about a plan B,’ Terry replied.

‘You mean, we look after Pat ourselves?’ Tom asked. ‘Like we originally planned?’

‘Maybe,’ Terry said.

‘But I thought you said she really needed to be with other bats,’ said Sophie.

‘I did,’ said Terry. ‘She does. Look, let’s have a night off tomorrow and see what we think about everything on Sunday.’

When they got back to the marina that night, Tom and Sophie headed for Grandad’s boat. They went into the darkroom and looked at Pat scuttling backwards and forward in her box. They both took turns feeding her milk and mealworms.

‘It’s great looking after her,’ said Sophie, ‘but what happens when she starts flying?’

‘And she might want to get married and have kids,’ said Tom. ‘Who’s she going to marry stuck in here? Grandad?’

Sophie chuckled. ‘We can’t give up yet, can we, Tom?’ she said.

Tom shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve completed our mission.’

On Saturday Tom and Sophie headed to the zoo with their parents.

‘What are you going to look at today, kids?’ Mr Nightingale asked, as they went through the staff turnstile. ‘Let me guess – bats?’

‘Not
just
bats,’ said Tom.

They headed for the Nightzone and, after a brief look at the potto and a quick glimpse at the armadillo, they stood in front of the Seba’s Short-tailed Bats.

‘You can tell they’re not meant to live alone, can’t you?’ said Sophie, as she watched the bats flitting from one part of the enclosure to another and huddling together in small groups.

Tom nodded. ‘A bat needs its friends and family.’

They watched the bats for another couple of minutes.

Then Tom noticed two boxes fixed to the back wall of the enclosure.

‘Hey, look, they’ve got a house back there,’ said Tom.

Sophie smiled. ‘I wonder what’s inside.’

‘And I wonder how you make one,’ murmured Tom. His eyes suddenly widened. ‘Soph, that’s it!’

‘What’s it?’ Sophie said.

‘We’ll build Pat’s mum a house. Then she’ll definitely come back.’

‘What? Where?’

‘Exactly where we first saw her. By the bridge near
The Ark
.’

‘That’s actually a good idea,’ said Sophie. ‘It’ll mean that, if Pat’s mum is flying past, or her colony changes roost again, they might see a bat box and snuggle in there.’

‘Exactly!’ said Tom. ‘Come on.’

‘Where are we going?’ Sophie asked, as Tom dragged her out of the Nightzone.

‘To find Dad of course,’ Tom said. ‘He can build anything.’

They ran to the large-mammal section, where their father worked. They found him walking across the green towards Gorilla Kingdom, carrying a bucket full of chopped-up vegetables.

Tom told him about their plan.

‘A bat box, eh?’ Mr Nightingale said. ‘Well you’re in luck. I built the one in the Nightzone. I think I still remember how I did it.’

He pulled a notepad out of his top pocket and started scribbling on it.

‘This is what we’ll need,’ said Mr Nightingale. ‘Give this list to Grandad. He can take you to the DIY shop.’

Tom, Sophie and Grandad returned from the local DIY shop with armfuls of wood, pencils and nails – plus a small saw and a bottle of special glue.

Mr Nightingale was already at Grandad’s barge. He’d drawn a sketch of the bat box – a rectangular shape, about thirty centimetres high, with a narrow slot in the bottom that the bats could crawl through. There would be a ladder on the back wall of the box. About thirty Daubenton’s bats would be able to fit inside.

Dad put everyone to work. Sophie helped to measure everything, placing the ruler on the wood and drawing marks around the edges with a pencil. Grandad and Tom made the ladder, with Grandad sawing the wood for the rungs and Tom gluing the sides together.

Soon the bat box was complete.

‘Do we need to put varnish or anything on it?’ Sophie asked. ‘To stop the rain getting in?’

‘No, it’s perfect as it is,’ Mr Nightingale said. ‘We won’t treat the wood at all. It needs to be rough and knobbly. So bats can cling on to the outside and the inside.’

Ten minutes later, Terry appeared.

‘Your grandad phoned,’ he said. ‘Apparently you’ve got something to show me. This must be it.’ He nodded at the brand new, home-made bat box on the table. ‘Did you make that?’ he asked, picking it up gently.

Tom and Sophie nodded.

‘That is a masterpiece,’ Terry said, turning it from side to side.

‘I thought we could put it near the bridge,’ Tom said. ‘Maybe Pat’s mum will see it and move in.’

Terry smiled. ‘That’s a great idea. It’s about a week since they shifted roost. The weather’s got much warmer, so they could well return to their original home – down here where it’s cooler.’ He examined the bat box again. ‘This is a palace. What bat wouldn’t want to live in this?’

Tom, Sophie and Terry were soon sprinting along the towpath. Sophie was holding the bat box, Tom had the toolbox and Terry was carrying a stepladder.

When they reached the bridge, Terry said, ‘OK, where shall we put our box?’

‘Up there?’ suggested Tom, pointing to a nearby tree.

‘It’s not very sheltered,’ said Terry. ‘Bats prefer to be out of the way.’

‘Over there?’ suggested Tom, indicating a smaller tree by the bridge wall.

‘It’s quite far from the water,’ said Terry. ‘Let’s try to get closer to the canal.’

‘How about there?’ Sophie suggested, pointing to a tree that arched over the water. ‘It’s near the canal, and look – it’s got flowers growing under it! They’ll attract butterflies and moths.’

‘Well spotted, Sophie,’ said Terry.

‘That’s quite a good idea, I suppose,’ said Tom grudgingly.

Terry leant the ladder against the tree, wedging the top end under a branch. Then he started to climb up. When he got to the top, Sophie climbed up the first couple of rungs and handed him the box.

‘Hammer and nails,’ said Terry.

Tom scrambled halfway up the ladder and passed Terry the tools.