Opossums are just huge evil rats
Saturday morning I was going into the garage to test fit a drawer in a freshly refinished coffee table. As I walked into the garage, I was greeted by a large opossum. They are not pretty, or cute, like squirrels are. They, in fact, look like very large rats, and on top of that they are usually bad tempered. This one refused to vacate the garage and I was surprised to see one active during daylight hours. I opened the garage door and tried to poke and prod him outside with a six foot length of 2x4. He did not like this at all. He made evil noises and a few quick turns, but had no plans to leave the garage. He seemed to have decided it was his territory now. It was at this moment that my faithful cat, Woody, appeared on the scene to offer his assistance. This consisted of some deep, low, prehistoric, growling. I had not heard sounds like that from a cat before. The opossum, on the other hand, had. He understood them to mean "time to kill everything I see" and charged me. Let me tell you about the opossum myth. They DO NOT fall over and play dead when confronted, contrary to popular legend. They crouch down low and hiss and growl and show off a set of inch long needle sharp teeth. It was him or me, and it sure wasn't going to be me so..... I whacked him with the 2x4. He didn't care for that much, so I whacked him again. Now the vicious little critter was thoroughly pissed. Woody had, at the first whack, decided I was on my own, and silently left the area. The opossum was still advancing and I'd had enough. I reared back and delivered a Paul Bunyonesque blow the little bugger's head. That did it (mostly). He began flopping and flailing and crapping and bleeding everywhere. One final whack.... and it was over. What a damned mess. Opossum blood and crap everywhere over a fifty square foot area of garage, the side of the Alfa, my tool box, and the welder. And the smell... ugh. Well, nothing to do but clean it up. I donned a pair of my wife's "bug proof" garden gloves. These could be compared to gauntlets worn by knights, except they are heavier, made of thick green rubber, hard plastic, and some thorn impervious woven metal material. I picked up the dead opossum by his limp, ratlike, tail and plopped him into a handy five gallon bucket. A hosing out of the affected garage area followed and a thorough cleaning of the car, toolbox and welder. Into the very back of the Falcon went the bucket, and, tailgate window down, I headed off to dispose of the evidence. Out into the country where the buzzards fly and coyotes howl (and both eat carion). I drove out to a seldom used vineyard road and stopped. I checked the mirrors, and ran around to the back and emptied the bucket -plop- into the ditch. Back in the car, I checked for witnesses and slowly drove away from the scene. Mr. Opossum sleeps with... well, not fishes exactly.
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