Wednesday, March 28, 2012

i've got a feeling...

I think I'm a little bit psychic. 

No, not touch-my-hand-and-I-can-see-that-you-stole-a-candy-bar-from-Hyvee-when-you-were-five kind of psychic. And not Alice Cullen psychic either. If you get pregnant with a vampire's baby, I'm not going to be able to pre-warn you that it's coming.

However, I do get...feelings sometimes. Just random, strange thoughts that pop into my consciousness from seemingly nowhere, with no indication of why or how they arrived.

Examples:

  • Waking up from a dream and thinking, "I really liked the movie "The Secret of Nimh" when I was little." Two hours later, I'll turn on my TV and that exact movie will be on. 
  • Spontaneously thinking to myself, "God, it would suck if I ever lost my wedding ring." The next day, I'll lose my wedding ring. (Thankfully for only a few hours.)
  • Remember this post? You can't tell me there was a little bit of psychic-ness in that.


You get the idea.


So the other day, I'm working. La di da. And I get this totally overwhelming urge to check out a blog that I haven't read in awhile. She's a quite famous blogger whom many of you probably already read. So my psychic itch flares up and tells me I must read her blog entry today. I do, and it turns out to be this one.

(I'll wait while you go read it, because it's interesting.)

This story bugged me. And not because the bird inevitably passed away. It bugged me because the ENTIRE TIME I was reading, I was (Girl Scout's honor) thinking to myself, "This is going to happen to me soon."

Does that make ANY sense? No. None. And yet, there "the feeling" was. The itch. The tingling. The tickle.

I ignored it.

Fast forward to today.

I'm in my home office, about to enjoy my deliciously healthy yet heaping-helping-of-boring salad lunch. There's a knock at the door.

I go to the door and see the Fed Ex truck in my driveway. A work package I requested has finally arrived. I open my door and step onto the porch. And see this. 




DUDE, what did I do to deserve this from Fed Ex? I mean, I haven't seen the poop on a stoop prank since 1992. 

"Your package is actually out here by the garage," the delivery man says as he's walking back to his truck. "I decided to stay off the porch." he warns. "That raccoon must've gotten sick on your porch."

Um, what?


I nod my head like I TOTALLY get what he's talking about and start to head back inside. 

"It's also on the stairs," Fed Ex man calls as he drives away.


I turn around and walk over to the steps leading to our front yard.  And I see this.




WHAT IN THE NAME OF JESUS ON A BICYCLE IS GOING ON?


And that's when it makes sense. Because right there, just to the right of the steps and on the ground- is a raccoon. A totally scared (I'm assuming shitless)raccoon.


For the sake of this story, I've made him a boy.


His eyes are wide and terrified. He's shaking like a blizzard is ripping his little body to shreds. 


I instantly start to cry. What do I do? Any raccoon that has made this much of a mess and isn't running scared from a human is either,


a) sick.


b) really sick.


I call Hubs. I inform him that I'm thinking of picking the poor thing up, wrapping it in swaddling clothes and feeding it some orange juice.


He tells me not to touch it and call Animal Control. Cuz I TOTALLY know what that number is.


So there I stand, on my porch, crying like a three year old and cooing, 'It's going to be okay, little baby! Neighbor Kimmy is going to get you taken care of. I won't let anybody hurt you, no I won't!'. All while Googling Animal Control on my phone.


(And I might also say, "It's okay that you took a poo poo on the steps. I know your tummy hurts, baby. Don't be embarrassed.")

Anyways.

You would think there would be a general number to dial in the unlikely event a wild animal appears on your front steps with an explosive case of diarrhea. 


Well there's not. 


When it's all said and done, I call five different numbers and all five inform me that yes, they will remove wild animals for $150-$220 depending on the size of animal and amount of force required for it to be removed.


I hang up on every one and consider threatening death upon most of them. Force? To remove a raccoon that just needs a roll of Charmin Ultra Soft and some Pepto? Who are these sick people?


I am thisclose to calling 911 and risking a leaked recording of my hysteria going viral on YouTube when I look across the street and see my neighbor. Who is also a cop. 

Neighbor Cop doesn't mess around. He hops on his cell and is all, "Dispatch, this is Deputy Blah Blah and we have a potential rabid raccoon in Sector 9 of the suburbs."


But get this - even Neighbor Cop has to go through five different numbers to find the appropriate people to come get Rork.


(Yes, I named him. Shut up.)


The Neighborhood & Community Services Department for Animal Health & Public Safety tells Neighbor Cop they will be by within the hour. In the meantime, don't bother Rork and don't try and touch him.


Neighbor Cop goes back into his house and I stay out on the porch to talk to Rork and keep him calm. I also completely forget his tummy problem and lovingly toss him some dry cat food in case he's hungry.


I sing to him. His big brown eyes tell me they appreciate the gesture, but would I want someone singing "You Are Not Alone?" to me when I have the runs? I don't think so, so zip it, crazy lady.


Twenty minutes later Rork is put into a safety cage in the Animal Control officer's truck. I'm told he probably just ate something that made him feel sick and was disoriented. They will monitor his behavior over the next few hours and if he is deemed safe, they will re-release him back into the woods.


(I'm also told to clean up the dry cat food in my yard unless I want more wild animals showing up on my front porch.)


In the end, I wave good-bye to Rork and am glad that he's going to be okay. 


I don't know why Rork decided to poo poo and vomit all over my front porch and find solace there. Maybe he knew what a lover of animals I am and that I'd find a way to make him safe, even if it meant calling every number in the tri-state area. Maybe, like dooce, I'll never really know the whole story.


But here's the thing. While I was going through all of this, I did feel better knowing that someone else had experienced something similar just a few days before. dooce didn't know what to do any more than I did. And I therefore didn't feel quite so out of my league when I attempted to handle it.


So the question becomes, did my psychic "this is going to happen to me soon?" feeling that I got when I read dooce's story really somehow start a chain of energy that resulted in today's happenings?

Doubtful.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it happened to me because I'm a blogger and I reach (a few) people through this medium. And maybe just telling my story will help one or two other people to know what to do if this happens to them.


Either way, I'm going to do my part. If you live in the Kansas City area, and a wild animal is injured or lurking around your house, don't waste your time on a worthless Google search. Call 816.839.2947 to reach the Animal Health & Public Safety office. 

Don't try and help Rork the Raccoon or Sophie the Snake or Bingo the Batshit Bear by yourself. Just be there for them in the best way you can. They'll appreciate it.

Now I'm off to clean up Rork's smelly mess. And I really don't mind.

 






 

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