The vibrations of that roared Arrh! reach the bar, rattling the glasses a smidge…

Ooh, squeaks the bat (supersonically, so nobody notices but the Wombat and the youngest Squidlet), now, my costume can be completed in time for Halloween! Trying desperately to uncork themself from the bottom of that last Irish coffee before the echoes died away, they roll the glass over and flit out just before the ghost of some funky old guy snatches it up an inch from the floor.

Good catch! Says the bartender. I lose a lot of glasses to people not being able to get back out of'm...

Our bat, meanwhile, is chuckling in the rafters.