Animals, Damnimals, Amminals

The husband person decided some time ago that it would be better to store the bags of cat and dog chow on the front porch rather than having them in the living room (dog chow) and in the kitchen(cat chow). I agreed with the provision that we'd get large, food grade plastic containers ASAWCAI) (as soon as we can afford it). Hence, the bags sat, opened, on the front porch.

I had the delightful duty of trotting outside, usually in my pajamas since those are pretty much the only clothing I own, and freeze my ...er...nose off whilst scooping 40 cups of cat chow and 16 of dog chow into large bowls, then carrying them back inside. At first I would glare at the Husband Person as he sat, warm and comfortable in front of the television but after the first 10 years he had become immune to my glares, so that never worked. After a while I stopped glaring and would occasionally ask him to get the food for me as I cleaned the kitchen and sorted out the leftovers into bowls for the cats and bowls for the dogs. (More on how to do that later.) Since he is also totally deaf when I ask him to do something while he's watching the idiot box...sorry, television...I usually would end up getting it myself which is what he intended in the beginning.

As for the process of dividing the leftovers into bowls for cats and bowls for dogs, I had to be very fast because the cats would swoop in, scarf down all the goodies and swoop back out. I swear cats have the ability to teleport. I am certain that they also can tell the difference between cans of corn getting opened and cans of cat food, although it really doesn't matter to them as they like corn and virtually every other human food with the exceptions of raw onion and lettuce.

Back to the hauling of cat and dog chow. One night, one beastly COLD night, I went outside to fill the cat bowl. As I scooped into the bag, my hand came into contact with fur.

"DAMNIT, I thought, not too originally or nicely, some damn (add expletives of your choice here) person has dumped another blank cat here and I bet it's pregnant. (They are all pregnant, even the males.)

I calmed down and put the empty cat food bowl and scoop on the porch. The cats watched from the kitchen windows and three were hanging from the windows in the doors. Pookie (I'll tell you about her another time) was sitting in the window with her eyes glowing red and her head turning around. I changed my voice from screaming to the tone of voice known as "poor, frightened kitty" speak which is supposedly good for keeping the little angels (right) from slicing and dicing me with their eighteen claws of death and destruction.

"It's OK, baby, no one is going to hurt you." I tried picking up the little thing, noticing that the fur was a bit rough and getting angry at the person who supposedly dumped the cat because a rough fur usually means poor nutrition and care. Damn, it was a hefty sucker, maybe it wasn't totally malnourished. It's little legs started throwing cat food all over the place as I finally dislodged it from the bag of food.

HOLY CRAP IT'S A POSSUM! I screeched and dropped the possum who quickly dove into the bag of cat food, digging for the bottom. I ran back inside the house, minus the cat food bowl, much to the cats' collective disgust. I ran past the dogs, past the cats and into the bathroom where I scrubbed my hands, used about a half bottle of hand sanitizer, washed my hands again as I screamed in agony since I just put alcohol on my hands which always have cat scratches covering them (hey, YOU try pilling a cat, giving a couple dozen cats their booster shots or bathing them and let me see what YOUR hands look like), so I washed them again. For good measure I stripped off my pajamas, ran to the garage totally ass naked, praying no one was out front to get blinded by my body. (Not a pretty sight, honey.). Put on new jammies, ran back through the kitchen and into the living room, followed by a couple dozen hopeful cats, to wake the husband.

The husband person didn't even look up from the television, which is normal, since he was asleep, which is also normal. I woke him up, wanting to share the news.

Him: "Snargle. Huh? What? Is it time for bed?"
Me: "There's a huge possum in the bag of cat chow!"
Him: "OK."
Me: "You don't understand. There Is A Huge Possum In The Bag Of Cat Chow." I carefully enunciated each word.
Him: "OK."
Me, going to the first look which is about 3 looks from The Look, AKA duck for cover: "Go do something."
Him: "Sigh. What do you want me to do."
Me, going straight to The Look, bypassing the other looks and not collecting $200, "DO SOMETHING." (Which can rightly be interpreted as "Damned if I know, just do something, do anything, just get out of your chair and DO.")
Him, sighing again and dislodging his cats (Akira the Second, CassPurr the Second, Callista, Linus and Mamma Katz). He walked out the door and returned with a bag of cat chow. Before I could screech and hang from the ceiling fan I noticed it was an unopened bag of cat chow.

The cats were eventually fed but the possum's bag of cat chow was put out front for its dining pleasure. Knowing how I am, I have refrained from naming the possum.

Pogo is awfully cute though as he (or she, I didn't ask) nibbles cat chow. Oh crap. I named it.

I'm so screwed, but I will be darned if I bring it in the house and let it sleep with us.

I think.