The irritations of daily life.
On the dewy lawn this morning, between the cherry tree and the birdbath, was a big old dead possum.
"Golly gee, Kate, darling," I began as she came down the stairs dressed for work.
I showed her the unlovely possum, which had begun to attract flies.
She said: "Mom, are you hoping I will go out to the shed and pull out the snow shovel, and then you are imagining that I will dig a mossy hole for the possum and set him into the ground among the bluebells and sea oats? While wearing my work sandals?"
"Well," I said.
"Better call the city office early," she said. "It's supposed to be ninety by noon."
--
I called the city at exactly 8:00. I told them about the huge possum lying by the cherry tree, and reminded them about the heat.
They promised to come and take it away. I thanked them fervently.
--
I emailed Kate:
Believe me, I was on the phone to the city office as the second hand swept up to the 12 at 8:00 am.
They are going to come and pick it up.
I wonder what they will do with it? Maybe they have a little cemetery?
See you later-
She wrote me back:
Ugh, a fly-blown dead possum. I'm glad the city is picking it up. I'm
sure they have a cemetery with tiny little headstones. The water board
lady probably tends it, which is why she seems so mean. She's just
sad.
I keep looking out the front window.
Still there.
"Golly gee, Kate, darling," I began as she came down the stairs dressed for work.
I showed her the unlovely possum, which had begun to attract flies.
She said: "Mom, are you hoping I will go out to the shed and pull out the snow shovel, and then you are imagining that I will dig a mossy hole for the possum and set him into the ground among the bluebells and sea oats? While wearing my work sandals?"
"Well," I said.
"Better call the city office early," she said. "It's supposed to be ninety by noon."
--
I called the city at exactly 8:00. I told them about the huge possum lying by the cherry tree, and reminded them about the heat.
They promised to come and take it away. I thanked them fervently.
--
I emailed Kate:
Believe me, I was on the phone to the city office as the second hand swept up to the 12 at 8:00 am.
They are going to come and pick it up.
I wonder what they will do with it? Maybe they have a little cemetery?
See you later-
She wrote me back:
Ugh, a fly-blown dead possum. I'm glad the city is picking it up. I'm
sure they have a cemetery with tiny little headstones. The water board
lady probably tends it, which is why she seems so mean. She's just
sad.
I keep looking out the front window.
Still there.