Musings of Me

OPPOSSUMS

What is drama?

This is a question that has been posed by many television sitcoms, foreign films, and anyone who has ever watched MTV or witnessed the behavior of Greek college students.

-Well, those last two really don't count as drama (they pretty much consist of sex and hysterics, which some confuse for drama, but those two activities do have their pros). That is neither here nor there.

I recently had my own drama staged right in my house.

Did I sleep with my sister's girlfriend's lover's cousin's babysitter? No.
Did I audition for American Idol? Ha.
Did I find out my father is an alien here to study earthlings? Not yet, but this would explain much.

Instead, my lovely sister returned home after working the overnight shift at Fox5 to find me in my pajamas, wearing gloves, holding the laundry basket, and clutching my camera. My brother-in-law was in his boxers, holding a golf club, and brandishing a dustpan. We were on the front lawn.

Before one even tries to draw any conclusions from this, let me place this scenario into context. My family is unconventional. We have done, and continually do, stupid, idiotic, and crazy things. We have a lot of fun with this. As a result, situations like the one described are rather blasé in this household. Also, Laura works in media. She knew there had to be a rational explanation.

The thorough journalist she is, she calmly looked to Matt to deliver it.

"Honey..... Guess what the cat dragged in."

Funny how everything can be summed in one statement.

Duchess is an average-sized, insanely gorgeous Himalayan cat. She has long creamy fur, delicate ears, and graceful conformation. She is the archetypical FancyFeast poster cat. This poster cat, however, has no desire to eat horsemeat out of a crystal goblet.

In fact, this cat is a survivor. I should mention she was found a de-clawed stray. We often wondered how long she was alone until the day she adopted us. Our estimate now is even longer.

Her Grace enjoys bringing in presents for us. At first we thought the moles, birds, and mice were tokens of affection or gratitude. As they began coming in increasingly alive, we started to realize Duchess regarded us as 'slow' children in desperate need of hunting lessons. She was working to improve our skills.

I suppose we did improve enough for the final exam.

Matt wakes up earlier than I do to shower and get ready for work. The morning of drama, there was a soft knocking at my door. "Jill, I am sorry to wake you up, but you have to see this."

Following into the bathroom, he points into the bathtub, looks to me and asks "Is that what I think it is? I almost stepped on it."

"Matt..... that is an opossum."

"Yeah. Thought so. Where is the cat?"

"Oh GOD."

"What do we do?"

"Opossums are the only marsupials in North America. They are nasty disease vectors and should be approached with caution."

"Rii-gght. Suggestions, WorldBook?"

"Do you have any thick gloves?"

As we determined a course of action (coaxing the bath buddy into the laundry hamper, then depositing it in the front lawn so the cat in the back lawn, if still alive, would not bring it back in) we did accomplish some prep work.

I, in my infinite wisdom, insisted on photographing this (not because I wanted proof mind you, because I only wanted to temporarily 'blind' this nocturnal creature and make it more compliant). In addition, we consulted some web pages and determined that adopting wild opossums is far more prevalent than any of us had ever known.

While working to protect wildlife, I work to protect my habitat as well. I draw the line at opossums and raccoons sharing my bathroom.

Once we had the creature scooted into the hamper, it closed its fists around the latticework, curled its tail and began to climb. This involved some yelping (It was all Matt, I swear) and some swift hauling ass to the door. Once outside, we tipped the hamper over and the possum casually sauntered under the nearest bush.

We congratulated ourselves on a job well-done. It was only after ten minutes of searching for the cat that we encountered stage two. We had given up on Duchess. We knew she was out in the kudzu somewhere, but were too tired to find her. Which is why when I was eating breakfast in the kitchen I was surprised to watch her run in, jump on the counter, purr to me, then jump back down. She promptly looked at me, turned, and ran yowling to the refrigerator.

Oh heeeellll no.

Yes. She was directing me to opossum number two. At this point I did some cussing, some laughing, and some quick reconnaissance of the rest of the house. Matt and I then proceeded to move the fridge, move the counter, apply some fancy footwork, and prod the marsupial with a golf club to secure opossum number two in the trusty laundry hamper.

It was right after this one sauntered away into the bushes that Laura arrived. While we left for work, she left for the vet with our increasingly unhappy feline.

Duchess is now confined indoors at night.

Perhaps it isn't sex and hysterics, but it was drama.

posted by Jill @ 10:27 PM