Their lack of sleep apparently left them humor-impaired, unless wordless glares serve as the equivalent of mirthful laughter among the teen set these days. They stumbled back to their room, while I stood and watched the raccoon wrestle with my door. It wiggled its little fingers under the bottom and seemed to lift it just a bit. Had I not been standing there right then to stop it, the door would've popped open.
Much like it had apparently been doing over the past couple of weeks.
I'd been blaming the girls for leaving the kitchen door hanging open -- and blaming the dog for making such a mess with his food and water -- but realized it had likely been this nimble-fingered little marauder.
A sliding bolt lock was promptly installed to prevent future visits.
Dealing with the aftermath of the toilet possum hasn't been as easy.
It's been a week since the grisly discovery and I'm still not entirely right. Each time I go in the bathroom and lift the lid, I flinch. But that's mostly my own fault. You see, I created a monster. Her name is Celeste.
Celeste has spent so much of her first 16 years getting pranked by me that she's honed her skills and has been taking advantage of my freaked-outness over the opossum to do little things like shove a fake rubber foot in the toilet and close the lid. Or a stuffed bunny. Or a bunch of marshmallow peeps.
You have no idea how disturbing peeps can look after they've had a few hours of bloat time in a commode.
They just lie there, all swollen.
As if playing possum.
Reach Karin Fuller via email at karinful...@gmail.com.