Monday, October 29, 2012


      Of course those of us who enjoyed comic strips in the fifties remember Pogo The Possum.
   I wasn't even thinking of him until strange things began happening in the garage in the dead of night. Loud bangs and crashes, things going bump in the night......In the morning, the stuff on the shelves in the garage had been rearranged haphazardly onto the cement floor. The cat food dishes, all eleven of them, were totally licked clean.
    Some critter was obviously sneaking in the cat door which opens from the garage to the outside, because there had been no cat fights, and all the cats looked innocent.
    The second night a large hole appeared in the unopened sack of cat food that was not in a protected bin with a lid. The next night Rascal, Mom's little dog, did her RunRunRunLikeASonOfAGun thingy, barking furiously at the cat door from the house to the garage. I switched on the light and opened the door quickly.
    There was Pogo, caught in the act. He was probably this year's juvenile (or she, I never looked), up on the shelf. Turned and looked at me and tried to scurry away. Mom's dolls are in an open box. I grabbed his tail. He grabbed the spiky hair on one doll and refused to let go.  She came up like a ventriloquist's dummy....Pogo wouldn't let go, so I let go. Figured I'd catch him next time.
    Seems I put the fear of God in him. Didn't seem he was back for a night.
    Wrong. It's been raining, and next morning the basement floor was covered with little tiny longey feet prints in wet clay stuff. Possum Feet! No sign of Pogo as I glanced around.
    The cats all looked anxious to get breakfast. Mini wasn't in her box she's been sleeping in under that shelf, but I noticed something askew on that shelf so I went over to push it back before it fell off. I was pushing it back when I glanced in the box. Pogo was sleeping curled up in the box, but peeked up when he became aware I was there.
    His neck angled quite still while his little beady eyes appraised me. I pretended I didn't see him. He took the bait and stayed "hidden", he thought. I got a flat board and slid it over the box for a lid, between the box and the shelf, then got the cat carrier. I carefully moved the box to the floor, board still pressed tight over the box. I set the cat carrier on end so all I had to do was drop him into it. Off came the lid and of course he turned to defend himself. But I took a chance he was too slow to bite me and couldn't turn his heavy little bod that quick, and dropped him into the cat carrier and clanked the lid shut.
     You'd think it would be easy enough to relocate a possum to the woods, but this here township and surrounding countryside is full of houses everywhere, and any of the roads leading into the woods are blocked off. I didn't want to set him out near any houses, and I didn't want to set him out near a road because I didn't want him to turn into RoadKill--but I couldn't get back into the woods. I must've driven a hundred miles looking for somewhere suitable, finally gave up.
    So I parked near the power line swatch, took the carrier down in a small ravine where some heavy brush grew close enough to the edge of the woods and hopefully far enough away from the road that he'd manage to make a clean getaway. Said a small prayer for Pogo and turned the carrier upright so he sorta dropped out and glided into the brush.
    If God's eye is on the sparrow--and it is-- Pogo's got it made. A new home in the wild--free and away--where the deer, the rabbits, the raccoons and possums play. 

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