The flying fox, stuffed, was hung upside down in the window. Claws, or are they talons, hook around a varnished tree part. If I could reach my hand in I would:I see it, my hand, go in then my arm, up to my shoulder and the bat flapping and twisting and I think of the times my black cat would jump through the kitchen window with some native in her mouth, each of us squealing. As I stood there, willing it alive, I thought of giving the bat mouth to mouth to assuage my guilt. It seemed to warm to the idea.