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The Tale of the Armadillo

December 12, 2013 - Phyllis Sigal
No, it wasn't an armadillo, Scott.

Co-worker Scott McCloskey has been spreading the tale that I had an armadillo in my kitchen.

It was an opossum. A baby. Just a baby.

I was working at my computer late one night, when all of a sudden I heard crunching in the next room. Crunching, as in my cat, Diamond, eating the dry food in his bowl.

But Diamond was to the left of me, sleeping on his chaise where he spends most of his days and nights at the ripe old age of 16. Bruce also was to the left me, in the living room on the couch dozing off in front of the television.

The kitchen and the crunching were to the right of me.

With much trepidation, I rose out of my seat and gingerly walked into the kitchen, peeking around the corner where Diamond's bowl is.

And then breathlessly ran — no, sprinted — into the living room.

Not wanting to startle the sleeping husband, I poked at him gently to awaken him, all the while trying to remain calm.

"Bruce, Bruce, Bruce .... there's some kind of creature eating out of Diamond's bowl, and it's THIS big!!!" I whispered, my voice calm yet dramatic.

After he figured out that he better wake up to check out what his quietly hysterical wife was talking about, he walked into the kitchen. I followed.

He opened the kitchen door, which was positioned in such a way that the critter decided to run through the house, and not out of the door. Silly thing.

My next reaction was to run — OK, sprint again — into the living room and stand on top of Diamond's chaise. Silly thing.

So, after I stood there for a few moments and realized MAYBE I could do something to help, I went to open the front door. Maybe the little varmint would run out that way.

But it kept finding hiding spots. It ran into every corner it could find, and it was squealing a poor, pathetic squeal. Not only was the little thing hungry, it was scared half to death.

After a full-out chase around the house, a broken picture frame and some upended household items, the armadillo — I mean opossum — scurried out the front door into the night.

But I bet we would've been in lots of trouble if the baby marsupial's mom had gotten wind of his antics.

Oh, and by the way, Diamond slept through all of it.

Maybe if it HAD been an armadillo, it would've gotten a rise out of my big, old cat.

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