Happy Hollerdays

I'm just warning you -- if you're squeamish or easily upset by tales that can only come from the boonies, then you should skip this post.

Seriously.

I did not have a lovely Sunday. It was supposed to be perfectly lovely, and I spent most of the day happily making scrapbook pages and stamping and stenciling paper to my heart's content. When I wasn't making stuff out of paper, I made a roast beef dinner. We do love roast beast. The pot roast was so big that I didn't have room in the pot for all our potatoes, so I had to make some mashed potatoes to fill out the order. That beef, with potatoes and green beans, was a lovely dinner.

While I was making it, I realized that the kitchen surely was hot.

Well, of course, that's not entirely unexpected. Lots of burners and ovens running, after all.

But the dining room was hot. And the hall was hot. And come to think of it, every room was hot.

Yep. Air conditioner. On the fritz.

And it's a holiday weekend. Can't call the repair dude 'til Tuesday. Argh.

So after my lovely dinner, I tried to open windows and move box fans around to facilitate the natural cooling of the house as the evening air became cooler and cooler.

Finally -- long after dark, around midnight, when I just couldn't stand the heat any more, I opened the front door to let in even more cool air.

Then I went to the kitchen and cleaned up a bit.

During the time that I was in there, Two Major Things happened.

Major Thing #1. My cat Hector escaped.
I don't know how he did it. I had closed him up in the back of the house. But somehow he got the door to the back hallway open, and he walked right out the front door.

I spent a good bit of time running around and looking for Hector. Yep. Running around the yard in my jammies with a flashlight and calling "kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty!" More fun than I can recommend.

Hector did come back home -- he literally just walked up to me and said hello, so I picked him up and carried him back inside.

So that leads to the other thing that happened while the front door was open. After I brought Hector inside, I took him to his food dish to remind him why he should stay inside, and while I was in the back hallway....

Major Thing #2. A small, young, not fully grown opossum climbed up to the top of my laundry hamper, looked at me solemnly, and promptly disappeared behind the washing machine.
I tried not to scream and jump around like an idiot. Wesley, my husband, has been asleep for hours and needs to get up at 4:00 to go to work. Screaming would accomplish nothing and would just deprive the poor thing of some much-needed sleep.

I can only assume that the opossum came in while the front door was open, and he headed for the cat's food because it smelled the best. (Obviously opossums don't know how great leftover roast beef is, and I'm glad, so don't anyone tell my houseguest the opossum, because I do not want to share.)

Since meeting this uninvited guest, I have Googled "opossum extermination," "opossum removal," and just plain "opossum" in an effort to figure out what to do as the night turns to the wee hours of the morning and I'm still freaking out because there's a 9-inch rat-tailed beast in my laundry room.

And now I feel guilty because I wanted to stomp that baby possum. Because there are actual organizations out there to promote the health and well-being of the only North American marsupial. Turns out opossums don't contract rabies, are very delicate little critters, and actually eat all sorts of things that we humans really don't like -- like mice, rats, and slugs.

Still, I don't want a baby possum living in my back hallway, so if he doesn't leave really soon, we're going to have some issues.

All of this has stressed me out more than I can say. Dead air conditioner -- ow. Missing Hector -- dang it. And visiting opossum -- eek.

If I had a cigarette, I would definitely be smoking it right now.

But I don't have one. There's a convenience store just ten minutes away. I'm not driving there.

I've made it almost two weeks without a cigarette, and I am not going to cave in now just because things are a little weird around here. I shall prevail.

Chantix is a miracle drug. I swear.

And happy Labor Day. I hope yours is smoother and more relaxing than mine might be.