The Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum or “I just wanted to poke it with a stick”

I used to live in town.  The entire world passed my door 3 times a day.  My front porch was one push-mower width away from the road.  Across the street was a small ravine with a creek running through it.  Just one of those little areas that couldn’t be built up.  Just behind the ravine was the local crack house.  It was empty except for the middle of the night when all the local crack heads used to come and use it. 

Now, I told you that story so I could tell you this story.(vague Ron White reference)  When we lived in town we had a cat named Psycho Kitty.  She lived outside.  Her food was on the porch.  It came to pass that several nights in a row Psycho Kitty would fight with something over her food.  In the morning there would be much loose fur floating around on the porch.  Some of it was NOT Psycho Kitty’s.  It was beginning to fret me.  But try as I might, I couldn’t seem to catch sight of what PK was fighting with. 

Then one night I got lucky.  It was autumn and I had left the inside door open and the fighting began.  I ran to look and almost wet my pants.  It was a possum.  Holy crap!  Do you know how big those jokers are?  The only ones I had ever seen before were about an inch and a half tall because they were dead in the road and pretty mushed.  This thing was alive and as big as a medium sized dog!!!!!  I couldn’t believe they were that big!  And my cat was fighting with it!  And winning!!!!!!!! 

Now, Mr. Possum wasn’t remotely concerned with me.  I stomped, I yelled, I banged on the door.  It glanced at me once,  gauged my sincerity, and dismissed me completely.  Hurt my feelings something terrible.  Mostly because at that moment he was right.  I wasn’t about to come out that door.  I was in too much shock about how big that rascal was.  It did however, set a wheel in motion.  When this happens, it’s almost never a neutral thing.   (see Haircut post)

PK took care of things, Mr. Possum ate what he could and moseyed away.  He really did mosey too.  Only time I’ve ever seen anything mosey in real life.  He came back several more times.  Taunting me.  However, the wheels were spinning now.  It was only a matter of time.  I was working out a plan.  And this time…… was personal.

The night finally arrived to put my plan in motion.  The Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum began.(now, I realize that really this was a quest for the butt of the possum, but the great quest for the butt of the possum just didn’t have the same ring, so I used poetic license here)  The whole idea was this.  I was going to go sit on the porch on a high stool that we had.  With a big ol stick.  I would be very quiet.  I would wait for Mr. Possum.  Being a dumb animal he would never divine my presence.  Then, while he was happily eating PK’s food, I would poke him in the nether regions with said big ol stick.  Thus scaring the living bejesus out of him, humiliating him, and discouraging him from coming back, red faced, onto my porch to eat in future. 

However, I happened to notice in our previous meeting that Mr. Possum had some nasty looking little teeth.  So, along with my large stick, I also had a small firearm, just in case Mr. Possum took exception to being poked in the nether regions with a stick.  You know, he might get testy on me.  He might also have rabies or something.  And he was picking on PK.  And I was mad.  And I was me.  And he had pissed me off with that look.

So, My Dearest Husband goes for a boys night out, and I put my plan in motion.  The Great Quest is on.  I slide outside on the porch with all my paraphernalia and sit quietly. Waiting.  I’m patient.  I’m slick.  I’m cool.  I’m congratulating myself on my brilliant plan.  I’m chuckling to myself about the look of embarrassed horror Mr. Possum will have when that big ol stick is half way to heaven with me on the other end ………..when suddenly I hear loud banging and loud voices.  They seem to be coming from the house just past the crack house. 

Sure enough, there is a feisty gentleman outside of that house banging on it with much force while simultaneously shouting to the folks inside about a certain kind of mayhem he would like to perpetrate against them if they would just come outside!  Dang!  This just might put a kink in my plan!  He sure is making a lot of noise!  Then many, many police cars arrive with sirens and lights.  Policemen begin to issue from them in alarming numbers.  There are folks on megaphones.  There is shouting from the feisty gentleman.  There is shouting from the inside folks who have now come outside.

Suddenly,  the crack-house comes to life.  About twenty occupants decide that now is the time to decamp.  They all make a beeline for the ravine across the street from my porch, where I am sitting, patiently awaiting Mr. Possum with my big ol trusty stick. 

I find myself faced with a dilemma.  I fear that if the crackheads see me there, they will assume that I have alerted the authorities to their presence in the crack-house, thus wrongly developing ill feelings towards me.  Do I sit quietly hoping that they will not notice me?  Or do I haul natural ass inside the house, bolt the doors, and hope for the best?  As I sit there, frozen with fear, trying to decide what to do, the crack heads crawl out of the ravine one by one and scurry off into the darkness, until there is only one left.  I can hear him shuffling around down there in the dry leaves. 

Now is my chance.  I jump up, run into the house and lock the door.  But now……..I can’t see him!  What if he sneaks up on me?  I have to watch for him!  So I go to the dining room window, open it, put on my glasses, get down on my knees and peek out.  I’m watching across the street at the ravine.  Ha!  Can’t sneak up on me now!

And this is where My Dearest Husband’s headlights find me as they sweep across the front of the house on his way into the driveway.  He comes in the front door and this is how it goes:

My Dearest Husband😦in singsong voice modulated to calm lunatic) Hi Honey.  Whatcha doin on your knees lookin out the dining room window like that?

Me: Trying to poke a possum with a stick.

I think it sort of lost something in the translation.


One Response to The Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum or “I just wanted to poke it with a stick”

  1. Melissik says:

    One afternoon, I was in the backyard hanging the laundry when an old, tired-looking dog wandered into the yard. I could tell from his collar and well-fed belly that he had a home. But when I walked into the house, he followed me, sauntered down the hall and fell asleep in a corner. An hour later, he went to the door, and I let him out. The next day he was back. He resumed his position in the hallway and slept for an hour.
    This continued for several weeks. Curious, I pinned a note to his collar: “Every afternoon your dog comes to my house for a nap. ”
    The next day he arrived with a different note pinned to his collar: “He lives in a home with ten children – he’s trying to catch up on his sleep.”

    I cried from laughter
    Sorry, if not left a message on Rules.

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