Friday, November 16, 2012
A Story with a Moral (and inappropriate language, and marsupials)
Last night at work I was wondering what to blog about today. I'm not one of these organised people you may have heard about, who plans out posts weeks beforehand. That's okay. They say that you should let your personality show when you blog, and I think that my general lackadaisical attitude really shines through in my posts. So, mission accomplished. Anyway, I figured that at some point between finishing night shift, sleeping most of the day away, and crawling out of bed in the mid-afternoon, I'd come up with something I could blog about.
I got home just after 6 a.m. I fed the pets, and read through the instructions from the vet on the dog's medication regime. Because of her arthritis and an ear infection, she's a junkie now. My mum turned up. She's one of those Morning People. I don't understand them, but I recommend keeping at least one in the family.
I told her a bit about my night, we planned a trip to the shops tomorrow, and we were still talking about nothing much at all when I went into my bedroom to get into my pyjamas. I walked in, turned around to respond to something Mum said, and FREAKED OUT.
"Holy fuck," I said, which is never a good thing to say in front of your mum. Even when you're an adult. Because she raised you better than that.
"What?" she asked.
"Holy fuck," I said again, when the word I was looking for was, in hindsight: POSSUM.
And look. Here is my oblivious dog, being oblivious.
"Jesus, Cleo," I said. "What if it had been after our TV?"
Who am I kidding? Cleo has a drug habit now. If anyone's going to steal the TV, it will be her.
"How should we get rid of it?" Mum asked.
"Court order?" I suggested.
Luckily my mum is more practical than me.
Step 1: With the use of a stepladder and a towel, we removed the possum from above the door. It escaped briefly in the living room, dashed out the back door, and tried to climb the rail on the back steps. It swung around repeatedly trying to gain purchase. It looked like an astronaut in one of those spinny-training things. This was the point where my mother was laughing so hard she dropped the step ladder, and I tried to get the spinning possum on video but connected to my voicemail instead.
Step 2: We bundled the possum up into the towel again, righted the ladder, and tried to introduce the possum to the possum house hanging outside in my car port. The possum scrambled straight over it, onto the fence, and into the neighbour's palm tree. It was about this time, just when I thought I could call it a victory, that the cat vomited on the back steps.
So there you are. Last night I didn't have anything to blog about, and I trusted the universe to provide. It provided a possum. And cat vomit.
Moral of the story: Careful what you wish for.