It Got Away

Seeing both of the cats sitting there on the floor together made me realize there was a cat food thief in the darkness of the back room. I tiptoed through the kitchen to where the cats were and felt around on the other side of the wall for the light switch. As everything lit up, I saw the biggest god damned possum with it's face buried in dry kibble. Advancing toward it caused the smelly animal to bolt for the basement stairwell. It escaped me. I yelled down the stairwell at it. Miscreant! Carpetbagger! Too late, it was long gone. Obviously it must have found a way into the house through the foundation, then figured out a good route under the house to the basement. Weak. I hate possums.

I walked upstairs and went to the end of the hallway where Senor 23's tiny room is located. He's usually in there drinking beers and playing video games on his 32 inch TV which is positioned about two feet in front of his 1970s vintage La-Z-Boy recliners. I knocked on his door. Silence. Then, magically the door slowly opened. I told Senor 23 about what I had just encountered downstairs and he immediately agreed we had to do something with this stinky pest right away. We decided that the possum has been freeloading off of us for so many weeks now that it must feel fairly safe in the back room. A false sense of security is an easy thing to exploit, and we would definetly try to take advantage of it. We were planning to do battle tomorrow night with the ferocious North American Possum.

Over good microbrewed beers the two of us sat in La-Z-Boy style writing up a list of required equipment for the coming fight. The list included two large pieces of cardboard (preferably from a TV or refrigerator box), oven mitts, a fire extinguisher, one large plastic garbage can, a broom-dustpan combo, and at least twelve beers. We weren't taking any chances here. Possums are dangerous critters when cornered, especially when they "play dead." That's always the time they are most likely to strike...