Sunday morning, I had to wake up at a ridiculous hour. If you know me you also know that ridiculous hours and I do not get along. I hate ridiculous hours, and I’m pretty sure they hate me, too, as they make everything in the morning suck. Normal morning? Drag myself out of bed, make coffee, check Facebook. Ridiculous hours morning? Trip pulling on my pants, coffee pot brews COLD coffee, get the crap scared out of me by a scary possum in my garage.
Yeah … let me just say that one again.
Trip pulling on my pants, coffee pot brews COLD coffee, GET THE CRAP SCARED OUT OF ME BY A SCARY POSSUM IN MY GARAGE!!!
After the near-death-dressing-experience and microwaving (ick!) my coffee, I decided to be
mom of the year a little nice and warm the car up so my family wouldn’t freeze on that typical Washington, not exactly cold but rainy and gross morning, but when I opened the door to the garage, the first thing I saw was the beady little eyes of a possum!
I screamed like a woman child, jumped up in the air, and I’m pretty sure FLEW back into the living room all the while yelling, “POSSUM!!!” My family (most of whom are also not big fans of ridiculous hours) looked at me like I was crazy. Seriously?!? Like I would, or even COULD, make up “possum in the garage” at 4AM?!?
My husband, the hero, came over to see what I was talking about and said oh-so-eloquently, “Oh, there really is a possum.”
“Do those things have claws?” he said.
“UMM, YES! AND TINY SHARP TEETH, TOO!!!” (I was maybe a little bit hysterical at this point. I was raised in the country, guys, but I DO NOT do well with wildlife. Remind me to tell you sometime about the squirrel that wouldn’t die and the baby raccoon that tried to kill me.)
Then, using a folding lawn chair as a shield, he calmly walked over to the car, opened the door, started it up, and walked back into the house. We both watched as the possum waddled towards the wide open garage door. Josh never broke a sweat. I had already soaked through my t-shirt and HADN’T been out in the rain yet.
After a little broom banging to “make sure he was gone”, we all loaded up and headed out, and it was thanks to my husband, my hero, and his composure. Had it been up to me, I might have just taken a few pictures for proof and then dry walled the door shut. I don’t really need a garage in Washington, right? The landlord would understand, don’t you think?
Anywho, “the debacle was over,” we got on our way, and the experience added a little levity to a morning that needed it, so all’s well that ends well, right?
Raise your hand right now if you noticed “make sure he was gone” and “the debacle was over.” Anyone? ANYone?
Yeah, when we got home and opened the big garage door, we were once again met with the beady-eyed stare of our little possum intruder. Apparently he had hidden behind some of my boxes of junk instead of leaving the first time. Not only are they scary looking, they are devious little
bastards assholes animals. He stared at us for a full minute while I tried to decide where we should move what to do, but luckily he began to slowly walk away … STRAIGHT AT MY CAR!!!
I won’t lie. My brain flashed images of mutant possums chewing through the undercarriage of my vehicle and killing us all before I had time to shakily reassure, “Huh-huh! It’s okay, kids. He’ll just walk out by himself now.”
Luckily, my brain is just warped not psychic, and no chewing occurred. I had Sydney watch the rear window to make SURE he left this time which he did, slowly, and at a pace I can only assume was a bit of a “F You!” to me. Then we hightailed it into the garage, closed the big door, and ran inside to breathe a huge sigh of relief in our now possum-free home.
In parting, this little episode taught me three things. Number one, Josh is a rockstar. Normally I fix things, solve problems, and generally take care of business, but when it comes to matters of wildlife, be it possums, squirrels, or baby raccoons, I bow down to his superiority. Number two, I obviously play too many jokes on my family, who now take nothing I say seriously, even when I am screaming at the top of my lungs, and number three, Ridiculous Hours, you and your creepy powers over wildlife win. Each of my wildlife incidents have happened within an hour of waking up, and I’m no dummy. I see the pattern now. The third time’s a charm, and I also bow down to you.
Oh, and as for bats in the belfry, I may be crazy in my family’s eyes, but from now on I’m pretty sure they’ll BELIEVE ME when I scream like a woman child in fear of random wildlife. Which will come in handy this summer when we go camping … one way or another …