Guess who came back?

The Possum.

The possum came back.

It was about three weeks after the first KNOWN visit and I hadn't seen it so I assumed it had moved on to someplace else, like the Mexican restaurant's back patio, or Jackie's Fifth Amendment (skeevy bar next door), or ninth street or wherever possums like to go in Brooklyn. 

I was all tucked into bed, reading, and the window was open because the cats were still outside...plus I had the lights on. What self-preserving possum was going to walk past cats into a well lit room with a person in it.

This possum.

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! 

(I swear I am going to be sick, blarf)

I had heard a scuttle, assumed it was the cats coming in, looked over and sitting in the middle of the room was this gigantic rat with human hands.

I got up, left the room, closed the door (cats be damned this time) and said in a terse voice, "Stefan?"

Stefan: (with toothbrush in mouth) Yeah?

Me: (controlled hysterical voice) The possum is back. 

Stefan: Yeah?

Me: Yes. You need to get rid of it....but first get the camera.

We had just had too many people ask for pictures and I am not sure what I thought Stefan was going to do to "get rid of it" so why not try to paparazzi it back out the window?

Stefan came back and announced that it was gone. "It was so cute. It was crawling up the chair and trying to get out the window but I startled it so it slid down the wall...it's little possum butt in the air. Adorable!"

Me: (blink) (Icy stare)

Look at this...

(no really, I am going to vomit)

...what the fuck? Now I apologize for dropping the F word, but you look behind your Crate and Barrel chair and see this, I don't care if you have a room set aside for the second coming of Christ, you are probably going to let out a 

"what the fuck?"

Speaking of Crate and Barrel chairs...GET OUT FROM UNDER MY CRATE AND BARREL CHAIR!

(look at it. It's tiny, fleshy hands. It's long, fleshy nose...I need a bag because vomit is about to come out of my mouth.)

Let me take a moment to answer the obvious question you must be asking: Biz, why have you not called animal control?

Because of him:

My husband.

When I say to Stefan, "Ok, we need to call animal control to get rid of this thing," his response is "why? It is so cute. Its not hurting anything."

Sure, its just spreading rabies and probably pissing all over our record collection. 

While when I think of this possum I see this:

Stefan sees this:

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah! Do you see a bow on this?

Me either. If Mr. Bluebird is on your shoulder, he's probably pecking your eyes out and pissing down your back. If this possum is in your house it isn't singing about your laughing place, it's probably laying babies in your Crate and Barrel chair.

GAHHHHHHH! GAHHHHHHH! GAHHHHHHH! GAHHHHHHH! GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

It has been almost a month since we have seen the possum, but every night as it gets dark, I make sure the screen is down.  If it comes back I am going to shoot it...and not with a camera. 

The end?