Frosty is insufferable. I recently cleaned out a coat closet to reorganize my craft supplies (addicted to craft supplies...there must be a twelve step program for this). Of course all the coats had to find a new home, so I did what I always do with things that have no home...I dumped them in a pile on the bed. They have since made their way to a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. I guess this all is my fault....Frosty...with her killer instinct that won't be domesticated....found that one of the coats had REAL FUR (some unfortunate raccoon no doubt) and has, at sometime when we're not paying attention (read as...all the time), completely destroyed said piece of fur. When I say destroy, I want to make sure you understand...there is raccoon fur from one end of this house to another. It looks like a raccoon exploded. It's everywhere; bathroom, hallway, garage, bedrooms, kitchen...I can't even sufficiently describe our bedroom to you. It's the center of the carnage though.
I went to work the other day and hanging from the back of my very professional doctor white coat...a big chunk of dead raccoon. Nothing says professional like that.
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