houseguests no more

So the possum which wasn't sick? Is now missing.

Which wouldn't be a problem except that her baby is not missing: he spent yesterday tucked up tight in their makeshift nest, curled up and pretending to be nothing more than a knot of leaves on the balcony, hoping against hope that the big frightening people wouldn't notice him until his mother returns. Except she was away all day yesterday, and maybe even all day the day before because no one checked on her.

So I spent last night trapping the little fella and taking him to the nearest wildlife shelter. Possums are extremely territorial, and by law must be released within 50m of where they're captured, so when he's old enough I guess he'll be released back near us again anyway. And if mother possum turns up a quick phonecall to the shelter will see baby brought back. But I'm not hopeful on that last score: still no sign of her this morning.

21 October 2006 @ 10:49 | 3 Comments

today i wrote yesterday's words. only different.

So it looks like the possum is not sick or injured. She's just decided the corner is a neato place and thanks very much. She seems to wander away for food and whatnot during the night and just wants to spend the days sleeping there. H'm. Better there than trying to get into the roofspace, I suppose.

In inane slightly boggling news, yesterday I met a Parisian who informed me, with all the dignity that only a French accent can bestow, that he would call me Deborah rather than Deb. I didn't quite follow the reasoning, although it had something to do Australians being lazy with names and therefore you should never give them an already-shortened version of your name because then they'll shorten it again. But seriously? How're you going to shorten Deb? I suppose you could get all minimalistic on me and shorten it to D.

In other news, the short story? Well, let's not talk about the short story. Last night I tried to use a nifty little program called Dark Room, to help shut out the internets and help me concentrate. And all went well, until I came to the end. I copied the text from the Dark Room program, pasted it into the manuscript. Deleted it from Dark Room. Put it in order in the manuscript. Then pressed close.

And when the little alert flashed up asking Do you want to save the changes?

I clicked No.

Lost! Losst! The precious, my precious!

Ah well. They were probably crap words anyway. Let's hope so, eh? Because they ain't coming back.

14 October 2006 @ 8:56 |

houseguests

We have a houseguest: a mother and baby brushtail possum have set up camp on our balcony. It's not a particularly safe spot she's chosen: she's tucked behind some chipboard which covers a corner made by the joining of two external walls, so it's dark and it's cosy and it's out of the way and sort of enclosed. But it's certainly not safe, which makes us wonder if perhaps she's hurt and finds moving difficult.

We've given her some water to make sure she's okay through the day, and she's eating and drinking so she's not dreadfully sick, so for now we're just willing to let things lie and see how things pan out. She's not in the walls or the roof space (and the brushtails are too big to squirm into the roofspace).

The cats are wild to get out on to the balcony and teach her a lesson, naturally. I've tried to explain to them that, cat vs (injured) possum, there's only one going to be learning a lesson, and it's not going to be the possum. The cats remain unconvinced.

11 October 2006 @ 17:34 | 4 Comments