Skunks

Playing Possum

Things are relatively back to normal around here. Ken recovered, having a very mild case of the ‘vid and I never did get it, mostly because I’m convinced that I had covid already at the end of January 2020—right before everything started to get shut down. I was incredibly sick back then and lost my sense of taste, so I’m convinced that I had OG covid, which has made me immune to all these new strains, plus I’ve had all my boosters. Plus plus, Ken has the immune system of a big baby:

Me: I didn’t get covid from you because I have a kick-ass immune system.
Ken: You didn’t get covid because you weren’t in the direct line of fire of that woman at the art auction who sounded like she was dying.
Me: I was sitting next to you! AND I LIVE WITH YOU!

And then I felt really bad because I had MADE Ken go to the art auction on the cruise ship on the grounds that ‘it would be fun and also there is free champagne’. So we went, neither of us having any intention of buying overpriced art. Just like I went to all the jewelry events even though I had no intention of buying any overpriced jewelry. But again, there was FREE CHAMPAGNE. And yes, Ken and I both had beverage packages so we didn’t have to pay for any alcohol, but isn’t there something about ‘free champagne’ that just draws you in every time? The art auction was hilarious because it wasn’t really an auction at all. I’m used to antique auctions where the auctioneer is one of those guys with the incredible patter and it’s worth going just for the excitement. But the cruise ship auctioneer was very obviously not schooled in auction patter and the auction went like this:

Art Lady: This painting by this guy who did a lot of trees is valued at $111 000. Do I hear $50 000? No? All right Marco, put it back in the gallery. Now it’s time for the mystery painting! It is also trees, but it’s by a different guy and THAT’S the mystery!

The most expensive thing I saw get bought was a resin pig. It went for $3000 and everyone in the audience cheered and clapped for the guy, who was super-old and with a very young blonde woman that Ken insisted was his daughter. He assumed that because she called the old guy “Daddy” and I was like “Dude, you’re so naïve.”

At any rate, we sat through the auction next to a woman wearing a mask who kept taking off the mask to cough phlegmatically and blow her nose noisily then either fell asleep or died, but I’m not sure which, because we left right after the resin pig.

And things finally got back to normal and everything was good and covid-free until three nights ago, when Atlas ran in the bedroom and immediately jumped up on the bed and wouldn’t look at me…

Me: Hey bud—OMG WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!! KEN!!!

Yes, he got sprayed by a skunk AGAIN. That’s five times in the last three months. Luckily, Ken has a very good de-skunk concoction and we got Atlas before it had really soaked in. So Ken set up the live trap, and on Saturday morning, he called me outside:

Ken: There’s something in the trap.
Me: Is it the skunk? Please let it be the skunk!
Ken: Nope. But it’s very pissed off.

It was a possum. And it was the most annoyed and embarrassed possum I’ve ever seen, like it couldn’t believe it fell for the old peanut butter and cat food trick. But we like possums and they don’t stink, so we opened the trap and left it alone to make its way back to its possum home. Safe travels, little guy, and if you see the skunk, tell him how good that peanut butter and cat food tasted.

Again?!

On Thursday night, Ken got up around 5 am (is that night or morning? Either way it was still very dark out and I had been, until that moment, fast asleep). “What’s wrong?” I asked. His back was twinging a bit because he’d been carrying our new deck furniture, a gift from my brother, up and down a ladder, to put it on our balcony because it was too big to take through the house.

“I’m going downstairs to read,” he said.

“Take the dog with you,” I said. Imagine at this point that there was ominous thunder rumbling in the distance. There actually WAS thunder—I guess I should have paid more attention.

I fell back asleep quickly and I was just in the middle of a lovely dream involving clocks and puppies when my subconscious sensed that something was terribly, horribly wrong and I sat bolt upright. I breathed in deeply, smelled that familiar noxious odour and knew that my subconscious was correct. I leapt out of bed and ran downstairs yelling, “Don’t let the dog out!!” Ken was standing in the brightly lit kitchen, mixing up something in a plastic bowl. He stared at me.

Me: Did you let the dog out?
Ken: Yes, but he’s back in now…
Me: Please don’t tell me he got sprayed by a skunk!
Ken: I can’t tell you that because he got sprayed by a skunk.
Me: Again?! OMG, is he okay? Where is he?
Ken: I locked him in the bathroom. I’m mixing up the peroxide, baking soda, and soap.
Me: F*ck. I was really hoping you’d just made coffee.

Alas no. The palpable stench was not from the devil’s brew; it was from the nocturnal demon that Atlas had decided to chase and confront at 5 am. After he’d been washed with the skunk remover, showered, and dried, I had a word with him:

Me: What were you thinking?!
Atlas: I thought Ilana had escaped. I was just trying to help.
Me: She hasn’t been here for weeks! What the hell is wrong with you?
Atlas: IT WAS DARK. I WAS TIRED.
Me: Well, you’re still a stinky pants.
Atlas: Smells just like coffee. MMMM.

He’s lucky he’s adorable. Smelly and dumb, but adorable.