I think they might be right.
This morning did not begin on a good note.
For the millionth time, the maid pretended she didn’t understand what I asked her to do because she didn’t want to do it. DH and I were having an intense conversation and in the middle of this intense discussion, the maid comes flying through the dining room:
“There’s an animal from the zoo on the patio, Señora!
Last night, right before dinner, Ranger, the new dog, was barking and growling. He’s always in a good mood, so we assumed he needed to use the potty patch outside on the patio. DH let him out and he started chasing something around the patio.
DH thought it was a raccoon.
Manuela thought it was a cat.
Everyone thought Ranger should come inside before he got rabies.
For whatever reason, dinner ended and no one remembered there was an animal on the patio.
Fast forward to breakfast.
As DH and I were having an intense conversation, we were more than surprised to see our maid, come cruising through the living room and dining room. “There’s an animal from the zoo on the patio, Señora!
“Of course there’s an animal from the zoo on our patio, Manuela. How do you know that it’s from the zoo?” I asked. This was the stupidest, most dramatic thing I had ever heard.
“Because it’s much too pretty to be domesticated,” she replied. “If someone had a pet that expensive it would have a collar,” she reasoned.
Of course! I thought.
I had pretty much had my fill with this whole experience at this point so, it stands to reason that something absolutely insane had to happen to derail my irritation.
Manuela is a take charge kind of person. She did not have time for my frown. She marched past us, flung open the door to the apartment and hollered for the maintenance man.
She did not look to see where the maintenance man was, she just started yelling.
“There’s an animal from the zoo on the patio!”
As Manuela was informing him (and the rest of our building) about the animal, she told him that he needed to trap the animal. Right now.
He dutifully came inside (probably to stop her from yelling anymore). She marched him onto the patio and handed him a rather unreliable box. It was a box that housed Christmas tree ornaments five minutes earlier. Not exactly a box for trapping animals.
“Hang on, Señor,” I said. “I have a squirrel trap in the spare bedroom. And some gloves from the last time I played paintball. Let’s see if that will work.”
Everyone stopped. Apparently no one knew I had a squirrel trap in the closet.
They went outside to look at the animal. It got scared, began hissing and hid inside an empty flower pot. They threw a rug over the pot to trap the animal. My squirrel trap was too small.
The maintenance man came inside and closed the door. “Señora, that animal has a band from the zoo,” he said. “We need to call them and tell them to come get their animal back. It’s hissing and I’m not touching it.”
At this time, I realized that I was supposed to be at the bank for an appointment.
I had to go.
I asked them to handle and call if there was a problem.
When I returned home (hours later) there was a flyer on the table.
I was surprised to learn that the name cacomistle means “half cat” or “half mountain lion”. It’s also a relative of the raccoon. Thus the confusion in the evening. Apparently, the cacomistle differs from a ring-tail cat in that its claws are not retractable.
The men were sorry to have missed me and the rest of the family and left a flyer for my son in case he wanted to know who removed the animal.
I can’t wait to get on that plane and head home for the holidays. I like Mexico, and this has been an interesting experience, but I’ve had enough. My capacity to accept the unexpected is rapidly diminishing. I need to see my very stable friends and family.
There’s no place like home.