Bats in the house

I have just combed the Internet looking for pictures of cute bats and let me tell you, they're not easy to find. I recognize that an unpleasant childhood experience and too many Dracula movies have shaped my perception. Surely baby bats are cute to their mothers?

I've had a bat in my apartment every night for a week-- a different bat each night, I think: one was VERY BIG and flew high; one was smaller and flew in the middle range, then another big one, then another small one, et cetera et cetera.

The first night I laughed at myself as I crawled on my hands and knees from the living room to the kitchen to open the porch screen door so the bat could get out, which eventually it did.

The second night I slunk along the walls to repeat the process.

By tonight, I'm, like, Gosh, it's hard to relax with a bat in the house. I actually walked to the porch door to open it.

My cats have been unsurprisingly useless, in fact only mildly interested in the whole bat affair.

I know bats are good for the environment-- they eat tons of bugs-- and they're mammals, they nurse their babies, they're not aggressive and some species are endangered.

Still, I'd rather not have them in the house, but from what I've researched, it's pointless to try to find where they are nesting in the house and seal them in because they have babies and they would die inside the walls and not smell very good. It has to be done between November 15 and March 15. I will try to do it before the holidays. I don't expect my growing (and possibly temporary) sang-froid will extend to my company.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two hours later: I'm talking to my friend and fellow Sagittarian Holly on the phone.
"By the way, do you know anything about bats?" I said.
"Bats! I had a frigging bat in my house for three days," she said. "I was starting to think I'd just have to outlive it."