Tuesday, October 26, 2010
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!"
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?"
"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.