Tuesday, March 31, 2015

The possum parade

Imagine this as a musical, if you can.

It begins in utter darkness and the sweet silence of the night in the deep country. You know, maybe a boobook from an owl but that's it. And then...

yowl YOWL HISSS YOWL and noises to this effect.

Enter naked bearded man, left, having just staggered out of bed muttering 'bloody cat.' And imagining a rat - which the cats have killed several of, lately, and knowing it must be brave brave Sir Robin the littlest woosy pussy who is a tiny fluffy girl not, when dripping wet, much bigger than the rat. So there I thought I was the human cavalry riding... well, sleepily stumbling to the rescue. We have one of these sound actuated lights (it was supposed to be a movement sensor, but actually does noise - much more useful it turns out. So I give a little clap (as one does when the star of the show comes onstage.)

And there he is... striding down the passage towards me. The rat... no. Rather, a possum, medium large.
At this point you need the accelerando music, as possum turns and lumbers into the kitchen, me in hot, well,luke-warm pursuit. (on account of I don't actually want to catch it. They are clumsy glorified tree-climbing wallaby and have big sharp claws. Not that I know of any of them attacking anyone, but I'm not wearing a lot of claw-protection.) It runs into the corner of the kitchen, and starts to try and climb up the cabinet - to the work surface which has a deep-fat fryer on it... full of oil.

Now you can have a little crescendo, in which the reluctant hero/villian of the piece realizes it's act fast and with courage and resolve or there's a mess that defies imagination running around the house. I grab a stainless steel saucepan and wallop the possum, BAM! just as the sound actuated light goes out. So it comes on. In hot pursuit now (I believe this is where Yakkity sax music is supposed to start playing with BAM! percussion) lots of wild swings and misses - get off my bookcase, over the top of the sofa (add a yowl from woosy pussy who was on it too) through the lounge, into our bedroom, where, despite the disco lights and percussion my love lies sleeping. The bloody tree-rat, having scrabbled into the corner escapes across the bed. Across Barbs, two cats. BAM! (add suitable feminine shriek and cross kitty imprecations), as the chase goes on, with the light and sound show hurtling back through the lounge into Barbs' study - which also has the kitty door possum squeezed through.

I think we have reached our close... but no. It's heading for the corner with Barbs computer in trying to get out of the closed window. Short of taking out the computer I can't hit it - but it is half behind the curtain, so I grab it by the head (with curtain between me and it). Now if this was full cartoon version the curtain rail would come down and hit me on the head, but as this is the budget production (sans oil, but with flashing lights) I am now stuck with a blasted possum by the head and no way to do anything about it, it scrabbling at the window, probably going to wreck the curtain. It won't fit in the pot. I fling it sideways and I manage to stop it getting onto the mantel which has precious pictures and an antique clock on it. BAM BAM! I get it to kitty door, and wallop its tail as finale BAM!

And the stage, scattered with possum fluff but no blood, is empty and plunged again into darkness.

I did struggle to sleep after the show.

I kinda thought after being chased by a naked possum fancier who was trying to make him into a pothead, the possum would be put off, but he came in last night again. Fortunately I was still awake, and heard him come in and helped leave. I'm drying apples and maybe the smell is attractive. Or maybe I just met 50 shades of possum.


  1. The adventure of Island life. Thanks for the morning laugh, good sir.

  2. Must say: your adventures with the possum were more amusing (from a reading stand point) than mine. We had a large Grandfather Possum who made the error of crossing our back yard enroute to ravage our backdoor neighbor's vegetable garden. My standard longhaired Dachshund (who has a half-brother living in Australia) and my Beagle said, "We are hunters!" and hunt they did. GP did not survive his error.