PEEK-A-POSSUM

It was just a routine Wednesday night, and we were settling in for our usual 9:00 p.m. Night at The Eye-Lid Movies at the Anderson-Brown Arms. It always feels so nice to snuggle down with one’s pillows arranged just so and the T.V. turned down and set to turn off within a short time, err…well, just long enough for the Royster to start snoring. Hank has been out and has had his treats. He’s circling around for the best spot on his bed. It’s always such a peaceful time.

But Hark! I hear a sound emanating from the kitchen. Let’s see …. The dog is in here with us, and the dishwasher isn’t running. Could it have been the back door? I got up and crept in the dark into the living room. At this point, I heard Hank’s food dish suddenly scoot across the kitchen floor. All was quiet until,

“…crunch, crunch, crunch.”

At that, I turned on the kitchen light in time to see a blur leap from Hank’s food dish and disappear behind the writing desk in the kitchen. I ran back to the bedroom to tell the Royster.

“Honey! Come in here quick! There’s something in the kitchen!”

He started reaching for the drawer where he keeps his Dirty Harry Special pistol.

“No, No! It’s a critter!” I said. His face fell with disappointment, and he followed me to the kitchen. “It’s under the desk.” I said.

We got in there just in time to see some movement under the desk. The Royster said he saw it, and it was a huge giant fanged monster of a rat!

“It was this big!” And, he held his hand about three feet apart, like he was telling a fish story. He went to the pantry to get the broom with which to smash the big ugly thing and save the day.

Right about then is when I saw it too! “Uh … Honey, I think it’s a baby possum. I’ll bet it came in while Hank and I were in the back yard on the patio. I left the door open for a little while.”

The Royster started poking the broom handle under the desk. I got a coat hanger and stretched it out so that I could poke at it too. We moved the desk away from the wall (what a mess), and continued to poke at the poor frightened thing. Finally it broke loose and fled to the other side of the kitchen. And, it was indeed a baby possum. It was so scared that it couldn’t even hiss. He just sat there quivering and held his little mouth open and showed us his little milk teeth.

Roy headed over with the broom to corral it and shoo it out the back door, but the critter wouldn’t have any of it. He was shooing and I was blocking. The critter darted to the left towards the dining room, and right under my feet. I almost crushed it, and lifted my foot and caught myself on the door, which opened. The little possum ran into the dining room, and tried to hide, but got shooed towards the front door. Roy then opened the front door so that he could use the broom like a hockey stick and knock him out to the front yard, but he little possum outsmarted that maneuver and hid behind the umbrella stand and finally got out a couple of baby hisses at The Royster. Roy swears that the little thing was hissing in Spanish or French.

“Get a paper sack! Quick! Hurry!” He said.

I went to the pantry and got a paper sack and held it open in the corner so that the little possum would have nowhere else to go. After a few pokes with the broom, the possum went into the sack, but ran back out again and back to the safety of the corner behind the umbrella stand. The Royster administered a two more pokes with the broom, and the critter went again into the paper sack. I crumpled the sack closed and lifted it up triumphantly.

“Go get the camera! We’ll take a picture!” Said Roy.

I went to get the camera, leaving The Royster holding the bag, so to speak. We took some pictures for our Critter Album, and Roy took the possum out to release him back into the wild.

You’d think that would be the end of that story. However, after what seemed like 30 minutes The Royster finally came in to tell me about his further adventures with the baby possum. It seems that before he actually freed the little thing, they tried to stare each other down with the possum continuing his threatening hissing and backing up; each time with a little harassing from Roy, poking, pulling its tail or tickling its little pink nose with a twig. He never did figure out what language the little critter was hissing in, and poor ol’ Hank never knew what was going on. He only knew that there was a funny smell in the kitchen.