On this particular Sunday morning, Blossom3 went outside to feed the cat. With frantic, ear splitting screams, she ran back inside, squealing out, "A SICK MEASLE, A SICK MEASLE!!!!!!!!" I darted out, partially dressed for church, calmed her down and found that she thought it was a mink or weasel (she often gets them confused and settles on the term "measle") in the small shelter we keep over the cat's dish. I squatted down eye level to the dark and dingy cat food shelter and found a snarling possum hunkered down inside. I guess I can see a resemblance to a mink or a weasel; they're all ugly.
The Rugged Mountain Man was hastily summoned from shaving. He threw on a pair of cargo shorts, slipped on his church shoes and grabbed the kind of pest control we keep around here.
With a broom in hand, I helped by shooing the snarling "measle" off the porch, so he could finish it off... because nobody wants holes in their deck or siding. Figuring he had the situation in hand, I returned inside to the awaiting Blossoms and attempted to finish dressing for church.
Again I was summoned with urgent calls of, "Daddy says he needs you!!!!" (The Blossoms' noses are pressed against the window; this is country girl entertainment at its finest.) Still only partially dressed for church, I darted outside, where my man told me the stinkin' possum had disappeared. I gingerly searched the bushes until he decided it was probably under the boat.
While still in my church clothes, I was instructed to lift the boat as he shooed it out from under, because nobody wants holes in their boat, right?
Again I was summoned with urgent calls of, "Daddy says he needs you!!!!" (The Blossoms' noses are pressed against the window; this is country girl entertainment at its finest.) Still only partially dressed for church, I darted outside, where my man told me the stinkin' possum had disappeared. I gingerly searched the bushes until he decided it was probably under the boat.
While still in my church clothes, I was instructed to lift the boat as he shooed it out from under, because nobody wants holes in their boat, right?
Those stinkin' things are fast! I shouted to him that it was now climbing a tree, so we darted to a different side of the tree, because nobody wants holes in the truck that is parked behind the tree.
Ultimately, the Rugged Mountain Man did his rugged duty and the possum is no longer scaring poor Blossom3 out of her gourd and our cat can now eat in peace.
We chuckled for hours over Blossom3's "sick measle" estimation of possums... that and the mental picture of half-dressed folks in mis-matched clothes and shoes, shouting and scurrying around wielding "pest control." #sundaysonthefarm
After the laughter died down, the Rugged Mountain Man and I were reflecting on how God's hand of protection was on our daughter. She stuck her hand in to check the cat food levels. Her hand was only 3 inches from the possum's teeth. It was snarling and angry and yet it did not bite her. If it had, there would have been hospital visits with rabies shots.
We're just so, so, so thankful for His loving care in yet another adventure here in the Hollow.
