10/15/2012

The Possum

Saturday evening we had a little fall fellowship shin dig at our church.  Nothing big, nothing fancy.  Really just an excuse to get together and eat.  Which is just how we do things...  If we aint a churchin', we're a eatin'.  Dig.  So, anyhoo...  We got home and Chris was upstairs getting the boys to bed.  I went out into the garage to get my leftover food and dishes out of the car.  Our garage isn't huge, so I opened the door so that I wouldn't hit it with the back hatch of my Honda Pilot.  (My trusty, loyal Honda Pilot that is about to be replaced my a minivan because I am a hardcore breeder.)  As I was loading up, a giant, ferocious man eating possum came tearing around the corner with a hunger in his beady eyes.

Okay, not really.  He was gray and cute.  About the size of my dog.  But even though he was poodle sized and cute, I knew I didn't want that guy in our garage.  And he was walking up like he had lawfully rented a room there.  "No.  No, no, no, no!"  I firmly told the possum.  He totally ignored me.  Just like my children. "No, No, No, NO!!!"  I repeated.  He never looked up at me, (granted, I am not fully informed on the anatomy of the noble possum, his face is really close to the ground... Perhaps his little neck can't bend that way.) but he just hung a sharp right and started heading up the sidewalk to the front door.  Impressed with my wild animal taming abilities, I hurriedly shut the door of the car and quickly shut the garage door and headed into the house.  Chris and I had a good laugh over my stern possum reprimanding skills...  Not everyone can do it you know.  It's a gift.  You've either got it, or you don't.

The next morning, I had to go to the garage for something.  I thought it smelled a little funky...  But dismissed it.  I was probably just being paranoid.  But I was quick getting food out of the freezer, because I felt like there were beady eyes on me.  And that someone was contemplating biting my ankles.  Kinda gave me the heebie jeebies.  We were almost ready to go to church, Chris was getting little boys in the car.  He came in and said, "The possum is in the garage."  

"But I specifically told him not to."  Why doesn't anyone do what I tell them??!!!  It's maddening.

Chris could tell that he was in there because there was some paint cans knocked over, and there was a big pile of stinky possum poo.  That was the funk I smelled earlier in the morning.  Possum butt.  And let me tell you, Gentle Reader.  It is an unmistakable odor.  Once you get a whiff of possum butt, you will never be the same.  I started to panic a little.  I didn't know what to do with my hands.  possum in the garage.  possum in the garage.  possum in the garage.  possum in the garage.  I guess that in the two seconds it took me to walk to the garage door button, he had turned around and snuck in.  Or he got in after I pushed the button, all stealth like.  Jumped over our high tech suburban garage door sensor Mission Impossible style.  Maybe his turning and walking up our front sidewalk was just a ruse...  He really fooled me, that tricky little possum.  All right, lady.  You told me No NO NO.  I guess I'll just leave now.  La-de-da-de-da...
He was cuddled up on the bag of the lawnmower.  Just made himself at home and found a little possum hammock.  He pooped twice, rummaged through a bunch of stuff, and made the garage smell like possum butt.  All of that is really tiring, so he needed a comfy place to rest.

After consulting a website called, Possum Lovers, Chris just rolled the lawnmower out into the driveway.  I was standing in the garage with a broom playing defense, making sure he didn't run the wrong way and into the abyss of our messy garage to hide in there and rub his smelly butt on anything else.  Our plan worked.  He bared his teeth at Chris and surfed the lawnmower into the driveway.  Then he jumped off and ran into our neighbor's bushes.  And now their box woods smell like possum butt.  Sorry...
Fare thee well, sweet possum.  May your road be straight, every garage door be open to you, and your lawnmowers be plentiful.  May you never be without a cozy place to stink up with your unbelievably noxious possum butt.

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