Sunday afternoon, the Gods of Serendipity smiled down upon me. Some things you just cannot dream up. Allow me to explain. It was just days ago I told you, dear internet, about my Hillbilly neighbor's pissing power and our puddy-tat problem. A problem we have not had since that fateful summer. But I must have tempted fate by letting you in on the inner workings of rural redneck living. Imagine my surprise when a familiar red, battered pickup truck weaved his way up my drive way yesterday afternoon.

Evidently, my hillbilly neighbors have been hearing a lot of crashing noises from within my trees. Very loud, alarming, crashing noises. And their dog is acting weird. This apparently means I have yet another cougar visiting me. No visible sightings, no tracks, yet Hillbilly neighbor is convinced a large, hairy cat is out there, ready to pounce on me and my kiddies.

Now, don't be alarmed, dear internet. I am taking this intel with a grain of salt. Or, in my neighbor's case, a puff of the ole whacky-tabacky smoke. What cougar do you know, crashes around in the bush, like say, the pair of moose who nest in my trees? Now I don't work for Natural Geographic or anything, but don't cougars prowl? Creep? Act all stealth like? And as for their dog behaving strangely, I can only assume he is reacting to all the redneck crack smoke the poor thing inhales on a daily basis. But to be safe, I'll have my gun-totting hubby go a-hunting for pussy tracks. Not that kind of kitty, perverts.

And for those of you who wondered, I wore my galoshes this time, when I went out to greet my small penis'ed, hillbilly neighbor.