2008-08-13 / Opinion

Weary of Wildlife

by Alex McRae

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 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. 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)

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