06/06/2026
THE HEAT DID NOT LOOK LIKE A TRAP.
UNTIL THE TREE COULD NOT HOLD ME ANYMORE.
You found me on the sidewalk.
A bat.
Small body.
Folded wings.
Breathing fast against the concrete.
Maybe you thought I had fallen by accident.
Maybe you thought I was dead.
Maybe you stepped closer because I looked too tiny to be dangerous and too strange to understand.
But I had not chosen the ground.
The heat put me there.
I am a bat.
I was made for night.
For cool air.
For insects over gardens.
For silent turns above trees while the world sleeps.
By day, I hide.
Under bark.
Inside a crack.
In the narrow dark places where my body can rest until the sun leaves.
But sometimes the sun does not leave gently.
Sometimes the roost grows hotter and hotter.
The wood warms.
The air stops moving.
My little body tries to hold on.
My claws grip harder.
My wings fold tighter.
My breath gets faster.
And then the place that should have protected me becomes too hot to survive.
So I fall.
Not because I forgot how to fly.
Because heat emptied the strength from my body before night came back.
Please do not touch me with bare hands.
Do not pour water on me.
Do not throw me into the air.
Do not leave me in the sun.
Do not let children, dogs, or cats come close.
Keep everyone back.
If it is safe, place a small box or container over me.
Slide cardboard underneath.
Move the box to a quiet shaded place.
Keep me secure, dark, calm, and warm — not hot.
Then call a licensed wildlife rehabilitator, bat rehabilitator, animal control, or your state wildlife agency.
And during heat waves, look down.
Near porches.
Under trees.
Beside walls.
On sidewalks where a tiny night body may have fallen before the night could save it.
Because the heat did not look like a trap.
It looked like an ordinary summer day
until the sky animal
was lying on the ground,
too tired to return to the dark.
