The animal control people felt really really bad about running over Mr. Snugglepuss. I guess I get that even if I didn’t like him that much, since he was a mean cat and likes to scratch Mom just for fun.
Mom had them come out to the back patio and gave everybody drinks from the fridge to thank them for taking the golden tiger away and for, I guess, giving Mr. Snugglepuss a quick death.
We were all talking and laughing so much (I think Mom was kinda relieved to be free of Mr. Snugglepuss too) that we didn’t notice the new guest on the patio.
Okay, so our neighbor, Mrs. Duddmore, is nuts. Crazy. Also old, but mostly crazy. Mr. Duddmore died before cellphones were a thing, and the little Duddmores never visited. So Mrs. Duddmore was all about her pets, which she kinda killed. On accident, usually from too much love. She had a mouse, a cat, a dog, a mini horse, a ferret, an iguana, and each time she got a new one they kept getting, well, weirder.
So the latest one was Crinkles. Crinkles was a skunk. And I know what you’re thinking, but no. He wasn’t one of those skunks they somehow cut the stink out of. He was a live skunk.
Oh, did I mention that he was dressed up like an armadillo?
Okay, so Mrs. Duddmore always wanted an armadillo as a pet. But you can’t have an armadillo as a pet because they give you that disease that makes your pieces fall of. Leopard something? Anyway, yeah, so Mrs. Duddmore always dressed her pets up like an armadillo. Little costumes she sewed herself. And I don’t know about you, but I’d be mad about being buckled into a silly costume too.
So Crinkles walked up, one of the Animal Control guys tried to pet him–why, I don’t know–and we all got sprayed. All of us.
And that was the worst night ever.