Someone needs to work on her temper.
So yesterday I was rage cleaning and unintentionally broke the broom. Tonight while trying to fix it, I'm pretty sure I broke my middle finger. How's that for karma?
Lucky for me it's pretty much totally numb. I'm working on four hats simultaneously, with at least a week's worth of orders behind them. My timing is totally awesome. Oddly enough, I'm laughing about it.
Anyway, it occurs to me that I never posted my possum drama on LJ so here it is. About a week ago (maybe longer, the days are blurring together) I was up all night sewing again. As I was about to drag my tired butt into the bedroom I had this random need for a mini pizza so I detoured to the kitchen. Standing between me and my fridge is a baby possum. In my kitchen. Between me and my mini pizza. My black kitty had it cornered and I think all three of us were terrified. I opened the back door and it ran under the sink. After a frantic phone call to my husband I worked up the courage to swing the cabinet doors open with a broom only to discover it must have crawled into the wall through the same tiny hole my cat got stuck in a couple months ago. By that time it was 7am and I was exhausted, so I duct taped all the cabinet doors shut. While I was frantically taping (and terrified of losing fingers) my asshole cat decided it would be a good time to walk up behind me and lick my foot. I shrieked. Fuck that. I locked myself in the bedroom and left it for my husband to deal with.
Funny thing, the possum never came back out. Turns out that hole goes all the way into the basement. Who knows how long that little bastard has been hanging out here. A couple nights later I went outside to help Jonathan carry stuff in from the car, and there it is just hanging out with three of our cats. Good job protecting the homestead guys. This wouldn't be such a huge deal, except for three things:
#1: When we lived in the top floor of our building we accidentally cornered a fully grown gigantic possum on our way up the back steps. It hissed and jumped, falling three stories and landing on the sidewalk with this disgusting sounding "SPLAT." Then it got up and walked away. No limping, or dragging itself along...I thought I heard it pop and then there it goes meandering down the street.
#2: My brother is a cattle farmer. Admittedly my siblings all like to jerk me around (My sister convinced me when I was 8 that if I ran in corduroy pants I'd catch fire. True story.) but I'm inclined to believe this one. Possums will crawl inside the anus of dead cattle and chew their way out through the stomachs.
#3: Two separate people on different occasions have told me they personally witnessed baby possums eating their way out of their dead pregnant mothers.
So there you have it. Possums are the zombies of the animal kingdom, and even tiny little shivering babies scare the shit out of me. By the way, my cabinet doors are still duct taped.
Lucky for me it's pretty much totally numb. I'm working on four hats simultaneously, with at least a week's worth of orders behind them. My timing is totally awesome. Oddly enough, I'm laughing about it.
Anyway, it occurs to me that I never posted my possum drama on LJ so here it is. About a week ago (maybe longer, the days are blurring together) I was up all night sewing again. As I was about to drag my tired butt into the bedroom I had this random need for a mini pizza so I detoured to the kitchen. Standing between me and my fridge is a baby possum. In my kitchen. Between me and my mini pizza. My black kitty had it cornered and I think all three of us were terrified. I opened the back door and it ran under the sink. After a frantic phone call to my husband I worked up the courage to swing the cabinet doors open with a broom only to discover it must have crawled into the wall through the same tiny hole my cat got stuck in a couple months ago. By that time it was 7am and I was exhausted, so I duct taped all the cabinet doors shut. While I was frantically taping (and terrified of losing fingers) my asshole cat decided it would be a good time to walk up behind me and lick my foot. I shrieked. Fuck that. I locked myself in the bedroom and left it for my husband to deal with.
Funny thing, the possum never came back out. Turns out that hole goes all the way into the basement. Who knows how long that little bastard has been hanging out here. A couple nights later I went outside to help Jonathan carry stuff in from the car, and there it is just hanging out with three of our cats. Good job protecting the homestead guys. This wouldn't be such a huge deal, except for three things:
#1: When we lived in the top floor of our building we accidentally cornered a fully grown gigantic possum on our way up the back steps. It hissed and jumped, falling three stories and landing on the sidewalk with this disgusting sounding "SPLAT." Then it got up and walked away. No limping, or dragging itself along...I thought I heard it pop and then there it goes meandering down the street.
#2: My brother is a cattle farmer. Admittedly my siblings all like to jerk me around (My sister convinced me when I was 8 that if I ran in corduroy pants I'd catch fire. True story.) but I'm inclined to believe this one. Possums will crawl inside the anus of dead cattle and chew their way out through the stomachs.
#3: Two separate people on different occasions have told me they personally witnessed baby possums eating their way out of their dead pregnant mothers.
So there you have it. Possums are the zombies of the animal kingdom, and even tiny little shivering babies scare the shit out of me. By the way, my cabinet doors are still duct taped.