The Case of the Pesky Possum; or, another reason why my granddaughter rocks my world

The two paragraphs following this one are going to seem — at first, second and possibly third glance — totally unrelated; but stick with me here because it all comes together.



Grace,

I have a Golden Retriever named Ginger. It’s 19 months old and I have had it since it was six weeks of age. I installed a doggy door so the dog could go in and out to relieve himself at will. I thought it would be especially useful while I was at work. Unfortunately, Ginger was not the only animal that apparently gained access through the door. About three weeks ago, a possum invaded my household and it’s been pure mayhem since, especially at night. One night a loud crash awoke me from a deep sleep and I went downstairs to find a half dozen wine glasses smashed on the dining room floor. Subsequent evenings produced overturned book cases, smashed wine bottles, broken picture frames, etc.

Once my son graduated from medical school here, he and his daughter, Grace, relocated to Austin because he wanted to establish practice there and allow his daughter to live closer to her mother. Every once in a while, I will put together a package of goodies to send to her. I recently shipped her a box with the latest edition of her Princess magazine, a plush toy, a Super Mario candy dispenser, a Barbie, a summer dress, and a couple of greeting cards, including one from Ginger with her picture in it.



Ginger, and

Grace, who is 6 going on 16, called me Sunday to thank me for the box and to tell me how much she absolutely loved everything that was in it. She told me Ginger "looked sooooooo cute." She then told me her dad had promised he was going to bring her here to visit during the summer and she was excited about that. And then she said: "Poppa, do you really have a possum in your house?" (I had kept her dad informed on my dilemma.)

"Yes," I replied disgustedly.

Now there are dozens of normal, followup comments or questions most people will have when told by a relative, a friend, a loved one that a strange creature is playing havoc with their lives. My granddaughter bypassed every single one of them. Instead, she asked:

"What did you name it?"



the unnamed pest

Update: About a week ago I purchased a trap, hoping to ensnare the critter. I baited it, according to the instructions that came accompanied it, with lettuce and "crisp" bacon. Nothing. I finally called a professional possum hunter (they’re listed in the Yellow Pages) and was told to try sardines and cover it so it didn’t look like a trap. I did. Still nothing. But I noticed telltale evidence every morning that the critter seemed to spending a lot of time on a certain kitchen counter. So last night I balanced the trap on that counter. About 3:15 a.m., I was awakened by Ginger’s wimpering. I went downstairs and found the possum in the trap. I took it outside and Ginger and I returned to bed for our first completely sound sleep in three weeks.

Oh, by the way, the doggie door is history.