On Monday, a flash of four legged creature caused me to brake suddenly. Oh my God, I almost hit a dog. I get out and it is still dark.
"Here, puppy, puppy," I call softly. After all, I don't want to wake anyone--I'll leave that task to the smackdown going on in my backseat. Regan is "hammer fisting" Wesley who is screaming that he'll do a kick on her. No wonder the puppy ran away.
I get to the ditch where the dog was hiding and see a set of glowing pink eyes and a large hairless tail. So, the puppy has conjunctivitis and male pattern balding? Oh, but no, it's a large possum growling at me. I squeal like a stuck pig and dive back into the car. Fortunately, the kids are still arguing and pay no mind to the hysterical parent.
Tuesday comes and I watch for the possum. Instead, a intoxicated squirrel falls from an overhanging tree onto my poor Vger, the now paid for Dodge Avenger. Like most inebriated rodents and humans, the squirrel has no apparent injuries and scampers off back to the tree. My children remain clueless as they argue the merits of school pizza vs Mom's frozen pizza from Walmart.
Hump day finds a wake of vultures greedily eating the remains of what looks like a raccoon. I speed up and try not to get splashed with raccoon guts. An aggrieved vulture swoops down on Vger splaying it with vulture poop. Wesley raises his head from his video game to comment that "that bird was a large eagle."
By Thursday, I'm a nervous wreck. What assault will the Animalia Kingdom have for me today? Fortunately, I don't have wait long. Bambi and his horrid mother prance across the road, stopping momentarily to pose for the classic "deer in the headlights look" and listen for my multi-cultural swearing (I can swear in Spanish, French, Latin, English and Korean, thank you very much. I believe in the fruitless hope that swearing is ok if it's not in your native language.)
Friday--I'm ready. It's Ticked Off Chick vs. Wild Kingdom. Alligator, snake, wasp--it doesn't matter. I'm loaded with a Super Soaker Thunderstorm. Only one living thing will make it and that thing will be me.
The assault started with the fading sound of a cicada and then....the cat, Phat Phrancis. She hopped onto Vger, giving the vulture poop a wide swath, and started purring under my hand. She jumped into my hands. Oh, she wants to be friends.
With the precision of a field marshall, she dropped the dead cicada onto my shoulder which rolled down my arm. I am sure she had coordinated the entire animal attack this week.
What a canis (Latin for female dog--not a sin because it's in Latin).
