Thursday, November 6, 2014

This Is Long... - Part Deux - or - Again - For My Non French Speaking Readers

I don’t know what is going on around my house, but I am sure the spirits of the animals my husband have hunted have all congregated around and possessed my cats in an attempt to punish me for his crimes – and make me question my obsession with taxidermy. Chumps! It will never work! Never, I tell you!

So, in an effort not to tax my fingers too much today I will start by copying & pasting from yesterday (the only thing changed is the name of the day to protect the innocent):

Wednesday night, relaxing on the couch with my main squeeze when we heard a noise, a sound similar to – but not exactly like – a meow. I paused the TV. We wait motionless for more sounds and information. In saunters Stink, a limp animal dangling from both sides of his clenched teeth while he was barely meowing (because his mouth was too full), “Look at me! Look at me! Look what I brought you!” My husband and I said “SHIT” simultaneously. Not again! (see This Is Long, So Wait For The Next One If You Don't Have That Kind Of Time To Kill - But I Swear It Is Worth Reading)


Yep! Yet again, Stink graced us with a totally dead (or so we thought) flying squirrel. You can’t make this stuff up.

My husband immediately yells, “Oh my god, he brought back the same one from last night.”

“How is it possible that an old, overweight, and constantly vomiting cat could possibly catch ANYTHING? Let alone find the same exact squirrel and bring it home like it is now our new pet? I retort.

My husband countered with a scowl that kind of suggested that I couldn’t possibly believe this was NOT the same squirrel from the night before and if I didn’t believe it I must have to be drunk because no one in their right mind would not to come to that conclusion.

“Did he find a nest?” I asked ignoring his look of ridicule.

“Maybe,” he countered, although I could totally tell he thought I was an idiot for questioning his squirrel prowess. “It doesn’t matter though, this one is really dead. It is just laying here on the floor,” he added.

I peered in. Yep, curled up in the fetal position and not moving; a poor lifeless rodent. But, I have come to believe that what we think is dead – isn’t always dead.

I grabbed a large glass bowl (instead of the net - because nets are for LIVE animals) and quickly sat it over the poor departed creature because tonight, unlike last night, Stink was definitely trying to keep us away from his ‘dinner.’ It heightened the sense of urgency to do what must be done. As soon as I fully engulfed the poor unmoving creature in his/her glass coffin, he/she SAT UP. That is right, sat up, looked at me and said with his/her eyes – ‘Come on sister, make my night. I have teeth and I am not afraid to use them.”

I ignored the threat. I mean the creature was under a glass bowl on hardwood floor! It was a flying squirrel for heaven’s sake, not a ninja.

“IT’S ALIVE…IT’S ALIVE!!! I screamed in Dr. Frankensteinesque fashion.

My husband proposed that I take it back to the woods – like we did with the prior victim. Notice the suggestion was for me to do it? He had shoes on this time! What the hell?

However, it was at that moment it flashed across my cognitive reasoning, that this poor innocent living being may indeed be the same victim as last night and if it was and we only took it out to the woods again, would there not be the possibility that we may accidentally subject it to the same unthinkable fate tomorrow night? I cannot live in that kind of reality! I must break the cycle!

We must take it off. Far, far away to where murderers like Stink cannot find it; a place where it would be safe and loved. Well, at least safe. My husband thought I was crazy (like that is a new thought around our house). But I insisted. So he said if I would hold the Stink’s salvaged dinner, he would drive.

We traveled down the dirt road and came to a lovely grassy spot where the moon shone bright upon the trees full of nuts and berries while smiling woodland creatures with out-stretched paws waited to welcome the new member into their fold. I may have exaggerated there a little bit. But that is how I intend to keep that memory in my head so I can believe the little guy is safe and happy and living a carefree life in the woods. Never to be a surprise guest in my house again! Suck it Stink!

You would think it would all end there. No more near death, no more rescuing, no more animal emergencies! But you would be wrong my friend, you would be wrong. This morning I went to feed my son’s fish since he is away at college. I turn on the aquarium light and there they were – several dead fish. Seriously? You die now??? The flying squirrel - bird – flying squirrel episodes weren’t enough? I now have to have a toilet funeral? You have got to be kidding me! Plus, now I have to tell my son I am a fish murderer.

I now resign myself now to whatever comes. I have no control. I was a fool to think I had any in the first place. I am a slave to the whims of the animals I have brought into the place that is supposed to be my sanctuary. My only solace this is that during all of the horrors of the last 24 hours, I have been completely dressed. It is a great solace indeed.

1 comment:

  1. Such a compelling horror story. Stephen King would be proud.......