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Alex McRae Columnist

Published Saturday, August 02, 2008

Weary of wildlife

My wife thinks I'm crazy. Since she was raised right, she's too polite to say it out loud, but I can tell. Every now and then, I'll do or say something that makes her bite her lip or roll her eyes and I know she's thinking, "He ain't right."

It's especially bad when I mention the word "possum."

This wasn't always a problem. Early in our marriage, my biggest (household) problem was armadillos. Not long after we moved into the love shack I was horrified to learn that armadillos were treating the yard like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I moaned for months and once even threatened to take action. My threats must have worked. Or maybe the guy across the creek who hunts critters at night got lucky. Either way, the 'dillos are now a sour memory.

But now a new problem has hit even closer to home ... the aforementioned possums. Or is it possa? I don't know. What I do know is they're eating me out of house and home. My cat food bill looks like the gross national product of some small countries.

Over a year ago, the kitties moved to the great outdoors on a permanent basis. They made friends quickly and several of the neighboring cats and dogs became regular visitors. And regular moochers at my cats' feeding station.

Unfortunately, my cats' hospitality was not confined to pets. Recently, the garage buffet has attracted a fat, surly possum that looks like the love child of Madonna and Satan.

I discovered the intruder when I entered the garage late one night and caught him flat-footed at the food dish. He dashed out before I could take action.

At our next encounter, the beast was either so scared or so annoyed he didn't bother to run. He just stared at me. When I "invited" him to leave he dashed under the workbench and hid amidst the paint cans and unpacked boxes of books.

I thought about ways to dislodge him that didn't involve fire or firearms. Then I ate a sandwich and went to bed. It worked. The next morning he was gone. But he's been back. A bunch. So what now?

I Googled PETA, but they don't have a possum section on their Web site. The guy at the zoo said, "A possum? You're kidding. Kill it."

Someone suggested a trap. It's a thought. When I was a kid I trapped some birds with a string, a twig and a shoe box.

What you do is prop up one end of an overturned shoe box with a twig. Then, put bird seed under the box. Then tie a long piece of string to the twig and go hide. When the bird walks under the box to get the seed, you pull the string, the twig goes flying, the box drops and the bird goes to Buster Brown jail until freed or eaten.

The only problem is, the shoebox would have to be upgraded to a 55-gallon drum to hold a possum. Worse, I would have to stay up all night to catch the critter on its stroll to the chow line.

Possa are bad, but sleep deprivation may be worse. Think I'll take a nap and think it over. Right after I go buy some more cat food.

(send your e-mail comments to: alex@newnan.com)