Mama sure is taking her own sweet time today…

Mama sure is taking her own sweet time today… ? Did I hear them right? Sarcastic little furballs.

An exotic pet skunk story. 

Exotic pets and geriatric pets take a special love of the heart. Forgive me if I am a bit cranky but…..

……this is what the exotics just said to me – twice.

Mama sure is taking her own sweet time today….

The time is now eighty-two minutes since I emerged from my bedroom, wearing too little clothes to stay warm.  So far I fed two ungrateful pet skunks – twice.  Sort of fed one cranky, finicky, decrepit old cat, and missed the boat when caring for my beloved lame, geriatric Newfoundland dog.  Oh… and I dressed – twice.

Last night I went to bed at ten in the evening instead of one in the morning.  Thought I would start a new shift with hubby who was gone when I awoke.

First off, this was the coldest night yet.  The lovely new Gen 3 EPHeater was turned too low during the night, so I was cold.  That was the catalyst in all my problems today.

Usually, I release the skunks from their den-carriers then shuffle barefooted around the kitchen with my strappy nightgown hanging off one shoulder.  This gets my sweet little princesses fed in the timely fashion to which they are accustomed.

Rule number one – never break routine no matter how cold you are or unglamorous you look.

Today, I let them out and poured granola, went into the bedroom and dressed.  Even did my hair.  Two skunks followed every move, complaining, and eventually digging my bare feet to hurry me along.

“Mama is sure taking her own sweet time today,” Blossom told Lacey, who shook her head and went back to bed to wait.  Blossom continued to hurry me along.

Snuggies, the cat rolled his eyes.  He’s twenty-four, what did these two itty-bits know of time.

So I am all dressed, loving my hang-around-the-house outfit.  Soft pink velour pants.  Long-sleeve tees, brown wool sweater.  Slid into my slippers to protect toes from Blossom’s skunk digs and off we galloped to the kitchen for her really late breakfast.  Milk on my granola to soften.  Plated up their food.  Coaxed Lacey back out to eat.

Pet skunk care tip: Mind you, always make sure skunkies are eating when doing anything where you do not want them to assist.  Like feeding the dog, which is another story altogether.  And feeding the cat, or doing laundry or going outside.

Skunks were eating, so fed the cat on a plate next to them, took dog food to one-hundred thirty pound Newfoundland dog on doggie sleeping porch.  Intent now is simply to go watch skunkies and cat eat while I eat, pick up plates and intervene as needed.  Then take dog outside.  Then work.  Not bad for twenty minutes out of the bed.

You can feel sorry for me anytime here.  I used to be a Pollyanna.  Today changed me forever.

Was heading in the door to chaperon their breakfast, but my snowplow guy showed up three hours early.  Good thing I’m dressed then.

The snowpile Plow Guy made last years on my flower beds.

Wade out door through snow I was going to shovel when doggie went out. Am in my slippers.  Give my plow guy the garden parameters for the year.  Don’t pile snow on flower beds, flowers need spring sunlight, not ice piles with a Newfoundland dog on the ice piles on the flowers.  As we shake on it, I slide onto my arse under his truck.  Come in with snow in my slippers, cold socks, wet pants.  So much for gratitude.  At least the snow is clean.  Pants will be dry in a few…. hours?

Dog says he is ready to go out.  ‘Wait for plow guy to finish,’ I say as I knock snow from slippers and strip my pants off one frozen leg.  I peel embedded snow off the hem.  Do I hear the cat upchucking?  Are the skunks in his food already?

Oh man, lots of windows.  Snowplow guy can see me.   I cover my abundant bikini-clad arse with the not-large-enough blue dog bowl.  Wade through skunks to get in the door.  Shuffle through the kitchen with a pant leg dragging.  No puke.  (No no wait for it.)  Pick up cat dish he only licked sauce off.  New brand, only can in the store last night… we live in the middle of nowhere… really.  Not even the skunks wanted this food.

In the bedroom, I take off my lovely soft pink velour pants.  Notice cat’s upchuck streaked across the dragging pant leg.  Eh.

Now you can say it.

Back to the kitchen with a pile of laundry I have to do seven hours before the spray to wash bottle arrives, no telling what will happen to my last pair of clean pants.  I see the cat puke in middle of kitchen floor.  The sunlight enhances its aura.

Drop laundry to go for cleaning bottle and paper towels before skunks track it too.  And notice my first tracks of cat puke leading all the way to the bedroom.  Step out of my slippers and into more cat puke. Strip off that sock.

I clean it all up and scrub the path only to feel through my other sock that I have stepped in it a third… or is it the fourth time.

You can call me a turnip anytime now.

Take the second pair of slippers into bathroom to wash.  They end up too wet to wear.  But I am soon redressed anyway, cranberry-coloured pants I really hate today, clean dry socks, and clogs.  I’m okay.

Back to kitchen. Remember, never break stride, never give them a chance, never ever turn your back.

We are playing in puke – why does it bother you so much?

Skunks have tipped over the can of pukey paper towels they did not want, digging for anything good in the bottom where there was nothing at all.  I could have told them that.  As far as the upchuck…. they didn’t want the food, didn’t play with the puke when they had the chance.  Now they have tracked the mess in a circle. At least they were busy in one place.  In the skunk world we call being ganged up on ‘skunkie camaraderie’.

I ganged up on them next.  One shocked skunk upside down under my arm, the other getting her hands and paws washed in the sink.  It can be done.  Dry her, wash and dry the other.  Tuck them in the den-carriers and shut the door.

Where is that cat before he barfs again?

The dog has stopped barking at snowplow guy.  I go out to admire plow guy’s handiwork.  Help my lame old dog to stand by using a towel for a lift.  I smell it.  I smell it, I smell it.  Poor old guy was barking to go out more than at plow guy’s truck.  Poor dog pooped in his bed.  Washed his hiney, my hands, took the bedding out to freeze since my laundry will go in first.  And find cat upchuck on the bottom of the laundry pile I had dropped onto the kitchen floor.

The twenty-four year old cat who is most of the time quite confused about where you are when you call or feed him, pretty much blind, cannot really hear or smell, is sitting on the sleeping porch daybed rolling his eyes.

“Mom,” he says, “Didn’t you just yesterday say something akin to sarcasm to your sweet husband… something about ‘live and learn’?”

What did you dear husband say just this morning? asked the smart-aleck cat.

“Next time puke in your litter box.”

“Of course, I’ll think of that…. just gag me.”

I let my skunks out of their den carriers and they charge to the kitchen like they had never been fed.

“Mama sure took her own sweet time getting us up today,” Blossom complained to Lacey.

I gave each of them a spoonful of my soggy granola.

Moral of the story. Guess.  What can go wrong, will.  You already knew that one though. Some things do go well though, as in that it only took me forty-three minutes to write this blog today.

Literal caring for pet skunks moral of the story. Never break stride.  Never change the routine.  Don’t turn your back.  Don’t let them see you sweat.  When skunks are out of hand you can gently turn them upside down like chickens, no, not holding them by the feet or tail, just upside down. They tend to crawl up you so being upside down throws them into a dependent mode for the moment anyway.  Skunks really want to curl against you for safety though. Try this first. But never let them know for a moment that, literally, they have the upper-hand.  Yes, those are hands on the front, little hands like raccoons.

Skunk Medicine: There’s A Skunk In the House! and other Tail-raising Stories  –pet skunk memoirs    Amazon paperback

A Breath Floats By Paperback  —Novel with three pet skunks and two Newfoundland dogs in story

Amazon.com paperback, Amazon Kindle version, ESSA Books ebook $8

Visit Women’s Fiction Blog – more short stories – quite often about skunks, dogs, cats.  True stories with a hint of creative falacy. And the lies we are told – hence fiction for women.

Tagged: animal stories, cats, empty nesting, exotic pets, geriatric pets, life, pet humor, pet skunks, pet stories, pets, winter stories, women

Posted in: animal stories, animals, cats, dogs, empty nesting, exotic pets, life, pet angels, pet humor, pet parenting, pet skunks, pet stories, pets, womanhood