This is an excerpt from a conversation I had with my mother this evening.
Me: I have an uninvited party guest.
Mom: Raccoon or possum?
Me: *sigh* Possum.
Later....
Mom (laughing at me): Maybe it'll bring babies this summer.
Me: F**k... Mom, no!! I don't need grand critters. Of any species!!!
And then we proceeded to discuss Googling pictures of possum poo, because of the unidentified epic pile in the litter box.
That's right... My garage possum is apparently civilized enough to use a litter box. Or at least, try it out, because there was a similar pile elsewhere. Either that, or it hasn't grasped the cat-iquette of burying said business.
In less disgusting news, I've made a breakthrough with Smoak. I was able to get within a foot of him, and my hand within a few inches without him running off. He sat on his blanket and watched me change his water and fill his food bowl.
And Roo was certainly at the head of the line when they were handing out persistence. He snuck into the house three times tonight. Little bugger.
So, yeah. Good times.
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