why me?

I've done my stint as a camp counselor, camped more than most people, swam in two oceans and the disgusting Mississippi river - I am not a wuss.

But I do have my limits.

There are not many things worse than finding a possum walking around on your porch - except maybe  a bevvy of bats in your shower, or a nest of vipers in your Craiglist couch or maybe a coven of witches in your pantry - there are a few worse things.

But not many.

We were sitting in the living room when I saw it - a little rat like tail sliding across the window by the front door. The kids were thrilled - never seen one in real life before, and here it was on our front stoop, just hanging out, looking for a snack.  I almost threw up.  I hate everything about possums; the naked whippy tails, the pink noses, the sharp teeth, the way they play dead and then jump up at the last minute, the way they will eat anything . . . anything. 

So after I watched him mosey a safe distance from the front door, I immediately turned on Rico, opened the door, and pushed him out. "Get rid of it."

"What?!" The man was standing there in his stocking feet with nothing but a burp rag to defend himself.  Ask me if I cared.

When I finally let him back into the house, I was still not convinced.

With good reason.

Tonight, after Punk's choir concert, we are pulling into the garage, when I see it again. The car has not even stopped moving when I am shouting at him to get out.  "YOU - go get that possum!"

"Where?"

By this point the vile critter is snaking his way through the spokes of Rico's bike, climbing up the shelves, and I am shouting. "Over there! GO GET HIM! He has been LIVING in our garage!"

"No way!  I have to call animal control! What if he has rabies?"

"He doesn't."

"How do YOU know?"

"Possums are immune to rabies."  I am pretty sure I read that somewhere, but even if I didn't, I still think that Rico should take this one for the team.

The kids and I jump out of the car and scramble into the house. Punk runs back out to watch the action. I peek out and see Rico armed with a plastic snow shovel. "How's it going?" I ask.

"Shut up!  This is not funny!  He wants to bite me."

Punk is prodding him along with a faded swim noodle.

Rico is shouting, "He's really nasty."

A few minutes of silence pass, before I hear, "Hey little possum, wanna go for a ride?"

I allow myself to crack the door open again.  Punk is laughing hysterically.  "Where is it?" I demand.

"Rico's giving him a ride."  I look into the driveway, and see the little rodent hitching a ride in the back of  Kooka's little red wagon. My knight in shining armor looks like a 5 year-old taking his favorite beanie baby for a midnight stroll.

He lets it off in the neighbor's driveway.  It makes a beeline for her garage.

Same neighbor lets her dog "visit" our front lawn every day.

Rico looks up and says, "You let your dog take a crap on my lawn .  . . I sick my possum on you."

Again, I am pretty sure possums are immune to rabies - but if I'm wrong, I feel very strongly that Joan should take this one for the team.