“Mom, did you buy a goose?”

Strange sentiment from my oldest son, but not one that is altogether strange in my house. Not that we talk about geese that much, but seriously, anything goes ‘round these parts.

After inquiring, he led me to the back mechanical/mud room, and pointed out piles of what looked like fairly fresh goose feces all over the floor and the stairs.

Animal fucking feces?

Already cranky from having dropped a 45-pound plate on my big toe at the gym earlier that morning, this was the last straw. With my head throbbing, which I must admit was a nice distraction from my foot, I knew being the adult that I had to tackle this problem. I mean, there were strange animal feces inside my house. So I did what any self-respecting adult would do.

I turned on a cringey Christmas movie and crawled under a blanket. When I emerged 16 hours later, I was better able to think, and we have since then come up with a few theories:

A goose found its way into the house. This has been debated and disproven.

After inhaling Chipotle, one of my sons’ friends made a left into the mechanical room instead of a right into the bathroom. Unlikely.

Someone pissed at me entered my house, locked his small dog in my mechanical room, and let him go to town. I held out for this one, but I was voted down.

There is a hole in my crawl space, and a cat got in.

We have settled on this last as the most likely, and as I write this early Monday morning (you’re all asleep), my day will now include a call to the local plumbers.

I love my plumbers. They know who they are. They come through for me over and over, and other than my sons, my most intimate relationships these past four years have been with my plumbers and American Express. They have seen me through everything.

But I digress.

Before I leave you, here’s a quick story:

Last week I was writing in the pre-dawn hours, same as now, and I heard a hamper drop in the back room. A hamper dropping at 5:00 a.m. for no reason in an empty house is not as startling as you would think, as we’re used to that stuff here. Things go bump and thump in the night all the time in my house.

So I paid it no mind. Until later in the day after the Feces Discovery. Now I get it.

Whatever feced all over my mechanical room must have gotten out of the mechanical room, bumped into a hamper, startled itself, and ran back in. Which is good.

Because if I was writing at 5:00 a.m. and saw an animal run across my floor, that would have been the end of me. The end.

I’ll keep you updated. Have a great Monday.