So, my house has been in more disarray than the usual toddler-filled home because we're busy packing. Yesterday, I filled a trashbag with everything left over from packing up the bonus room, and went out back to throw the bag into our garbage can. As I released the bag, I thought I spotted fur in the bottom of the garbage can. So, I decided to take a closer look. I walked over to the garbage can, looked in, screamed, then soiled myself, because I had come face to face with the beady eyes and open mouth of an enormous, angry looking possum. I ran into the house, locked the deadbolt (just in case the possum knew how to work a doorknob), and told a wide-eyed Bean, "It's okay. An animal just surprised Mommy, that's all."
After changing my clothes (refer to the aforementioned soiling of myself), I called up Animal Control. The conversation went like this:
"Animal Control. How can we help you?"
"There's a possum in my trash can."
"So, tip the trash can over," said the Animal Control agent in a voice that suggested that I am a moron.
"Are you kidding me? What if it attacks me?!"
Pause. "Ma'am, it's not going to attack you."
"Seriously, it is looking pretty fierce."
"That's because it is scared and trapped. Just tip the trash can over, walk away, and it will leave." Again, spoken like I am a moron.
"Okay, thanks," I said, and hung up.
Now, there was NO WAY ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH that I was going to go near that trash can, so I leaned out of my back door with a broom, and tried to push the can over. The possum's weight, however, made this trickier than I thought it would be. It was like trying to overturn a Weeble Wobble, and hissing noises kept coming from the can every time it almost fell, and then rocked back into an upright position. This of course, had me screaming again. When the can finally DID fall on it's side, I panicked, picturing a foamy-mouthed possum flying toward me like a missile. So, I tried to quickly pull the broom inside the house so I could shut and deadbolt the door again. But, the panic made it impossible for me to pull the broomstick through the railing of our deck. I finally left the broom out there and slammed the door shut.
Would you know that the stupid possum did not leave that trash can until Big Daddy came home at 7:30 p.m., picked up the trash can, and shook the possum out while I watched from the window (screaming, of course).
Needless to say, I will no longer be taking our garbage out. That is now solely Burnie's job.
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