The Attack of the Killer Possum

 

(Yes, I know it’s spelled opossum, but I live in North Carolina.  Nuff said.)

 

I was sick yesterday.  I mean, S-I-C-K.  If-I-wasn’t-temping-and-had-sick-leave-I’d-have-gone-home  sick.  So after supper (hubby grilled bbq pork chops – none of this NC brown sugar and vinegar bbq crap, we use Absolutely Wild barbecue sauce, produced & bottled in Abilene, TX.  I’ve discovered it can be purchased online – joy, joy, joy!) –

Where was I?  The dastardly parentheses distracted me.  Oh, yes –

So after supper, I half-heartedly played online for awhile before calling it an early night and heading to bed.

I slept hard for what felt like hours.  You know how it is – you don’t feel good, you’re sleeping like a log – and then something wakes you and you’re disoriented and fuzzy.  Yeah, that happened.  I was sure it must be morning – imagine my surprise when I looked at my clock and it was only 11:30ish!

I lay in bed trying to figure out whether I should be alarmed or just go back to sleep.

After a moment the realization penetrated my consciousness – someone was banging on the front door!  And all the lights were on!  And hubby wasn’t in bed!

I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the living room – not the smartest thing to do – I didn’t even stop for the shotgun, which is my usual recourse when someone pounds on my door in the middle of the night.  Hubby was standing at the door in his pajamas – and he was the source of the banging.

“Whasgoinon?”  I asked.  At least that was my intent – not sure what it actually sounded like, but that’s what I meant.

Hubby pounded a few more times on the front door and responded – all I caught was something about Vannesa being home from work.

“Why’re you banging on the door?” I asked.  I’m sure it was more of a whine than a query. 

“Because,” hubby answered in that tone that indicated this was his second time telling me, “Vannesa’s home and there are two possums on the front porch and she’s afraid to come to the door.”

He then dismissed me and picked up his cell.  “Yeah, are they still out there?  Ok, ok – come around back.  No, no, I’ll get the dogs – yeah, they probably will jump on you – well, would you rather have to face the dogs or the possums?  Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He went to the back door and out onto the back porch.  I stared at the front door for a few years, and then went to look through the peep hole.  I saw nothing – but that doesn’t mean anything, since the peep hole leaves a ton of blind spots for a clever possum to hide from view.

After another month or two passed, Charles and Vannesa appeared in the living room.  There were some puppy-sized paw prints on Vannesa’s pants – I’m sure she probably died three deaths when the dogs touched her.  She has developed a marked dislike for fur-bearing mammals; I’m pretty sure she’s been body-snatched by aliens, because how else could any child of mine be so averse to furry critters?  Especially dogs.  I could understand her not liking possums if she at least liked dogs.

I’m pretty sure nothing like this ever happened to her:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I can’t help but wonder if she didn’t turn this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

into this:

 

 

 

 

 

Once the excitement was over I lugged myself back to bed & slept like the dead til morning.  I told Bridget about the possum incident – then asked her to walk Baby.  She politely declined so I walked Baby myself.  First, though, I made sure there weren’t any possums lurking in wait for Vannesa…

All joking aside – possums can be fierce when cornered.  The whole “they’ll always play possum to avoid confrontation” spiel is wrong.  I’ve had dogs torn up by possums more than once.  Vannesa was perfectly right to go out of her way to avoid the two that were on my porch last night. 

Wild animals are wild.  It’s best to watch them from a distance, and call a professional wildlife rehabber or wildlife remover rather than approach a wild animal yourself.