errantember

...so after the Mangey Possum had been dealt with, I figured we were probably on the Road to Wellville.

For a few days, there were fewer fleas.

But...

...there were still fleas.

Yes, I realize flea pupae can survive a year before re-hatching. I wasn't expecting overnight results.

So I set the trap out again, this time with some tasty sardines.

For another few days, the trap was empty. Then, suddenly it wasn't empty.

It wasn't empty at all.

At first I'd captured Chewbacca. It was that big. It filled the entire fucking cage from end to end. A few light pokes with a reassuringly long garden implement produced this:



The possum was maybe 7 lbs. This thing was more like 13-15 lbs.
The possum was mangey. This thing looked slightly better groomed.
The possum was docile.

This thing? This thing was not.

Despite the metal shield built into the cage to protect the user from dangerous animals contained within, I was unable to get anywhere near the cage with my bare hands. Not only did Mr. Raccoon McFleaBag hiss, growl, and snap at me with vigor, he also tried to grab my ass with his creepy little paws. He was assertively unhappy to be trapped in a small wire box, and somehow he knew I'd put him there.

After several scares and false starts, I managed to heft the cage with the end of a broomstick. We'll note 15 twitching, biting, grabbingly hostile lbs. is a lot of fucking weight to balance on the end of said stick. Imagine putting a collar on a large, angry cat, then trying to pick it up with a broom handle, and you'll get some idea what it was like.

I used to think raccoons were cute. Not anymore.

Release was the scariest part. After proceeding back to my favorite Greenbelt Enfleament Zone and experiencing profound relief that Mr. 'Coon hadn't managed to escape in the trunk, I had to solve the problem of how to let him out. The cage door has to be HAND OPENED to get past the spring mechanism, after which a small twist-tie wire can be tied down to hold it open. I used my broomstick/defensive weapon to keep the varmint (possum was a critter. This was definitely a varmint) occupied at one end of the cage while I poked around reluctantly at the other end. Here his size played to my advantage, because he was so big it was hard for him to turn around in the cage. But then he did something I wasn't expecting. When I had the door about 1/4 open, he backed up and wedged his hairy, wiggling ass into the hole. I had to let go and back up, brandishing my handle on high as he squeezed his entire bulk ass-backward past the spring. To my great relief, he ran off into the woods as planned rather than attacking me.

I've *still* got half a can of sardines left, but I may need to get a bigger cage for whatever's coming next...

You may have heard about my little flea problem.

The whole "killing 13 fleas by hand after one three minute potty session in the bushes" incident isn't typical, but it is indicative of the scope of the problem.

I have killed many, many fleas.
I will kill many more.
I will enjoy killing...

Wait.

I've already said that.

Anyway.

A major battle in my personal campaign of flea genocide has been just been won.

Behold! The Mangey Possum!



"I have you now!" - Darth Vader, A Long Time Ago

I've long suspected some kind of Mobile Bloodsucker Mothership must be hiding somewhere in my yard. I don't have any outside animals, and although the odd flea can fall off a passing squirrel, my grade-B sci-fi level of infestation is only possible with full-time, on-site maintence. The neighbors cats love my yard, and they each have their own specific Flea-Delivery Zones, but they their owners don't seem to be the type to leave their pets untreated. Since my Mom's dearly departed Cowboy killed two baby possums, deep in my blood-deprived fever dreams I've seem shadows of something huge lurking Somewhere Behind the Shed.

It was time to Take Action.

I borrowed a no-kill trap from a friend of my Dad, set it out with some leftover pork bones, and SCORED BIG TIME!

*Cha-ching!*

This was a BIG FUCKING POSSUM.

While you can get some sense of it's width from the picture, it's body without the tail was at least 20 inches long. It's easily the biggest possum I've ever seen. I resisted the urge to take it to fire practice, which was a mistake as one attendee is sufficiently creeped out by any association with rodent-like creatures that she recently had a frozen baby mouse destined for the tummy of her son's python wrapped in two layers of bag and box, then CARRIED OUT TO THE TRUNK OF THE CAR by the pet store attendent.

Clearly the world would be a better place if we'd been able to get her up-close (and breathlessly unprepared) opinion on the size and quality of my hairy, slather-jawed, scaley-tailed catch.

I might have even been able to pick the lock on her car.

I guess it's water over the dam, now.

Sigh.

At least this time I had enough forewarning to use a metal trap instead of my Motorola jacket to capture the possum and put it in my car. And this time I put it in the TRUNK. In case you hadn't discovered this on your own Bleeding-Heart-Liberal Highway-Overpass-During-Rush-Hour-Possum-Rescue-Adventures, possums void their bowels when they play dead to enhance their "gee, I'm dead and rotting and therefore not dinner" behaviour. It's very convincing.

There will be other jackets.

The trap is outside again, this time with some odiferous sardines generously provided by my father. I'm a little sceptical that one animal could possibly produce the copious minefield of Super-Turds right outside my bedroom window, so perhaps I'll have a chance to take the next one to fire practice tomorrow at Cafe Mundi.

I just hope it's as big as the last one. :)