A Possum Tale. Tail. Tale.

I have an alarming number of pets.  They keep showing up at my house and I’m helpless to stop it, so I just name them, neuter them, collar them and feed them.

With the alarming number of pets comes a collection of dead animal offerings from both the cats and the dogs.  They bring me gifts.  Snicklefritz was recently ambitious enough to carry his offering of a dead mole all the way in through the cat window in my office to the living room, quite a long trek, but he wanted to show it off.  Over the years, I’ve been presented with rabbits, birds, mice, moles, rats, squirrels, possums, chipmunks and a few things I couldn’t readily identify.

I’m not overly squeamish, since in most cases, the deceased creature in question is pretty much still intact, just a little, errr, rigid.  Praise the pet (“oooo thank you so much for bringing me a mouse.  ooooo yes, yay.) and dispose o’ the carcass when the pet isn’t looking.

When I woke up yesterday and went out to feed the dogs on the back porch, I spied a possum in the yard by the swing-set, a possum who was not playing possum and had gone on to that great possum crossing in the sky. 

I wanted to get rid of Mister Possum before the kids got up, so I decided the right thing to do would be to toss him into my neighbor’s yard (I am so popular in my neighborhood).  My neighbor has a densely wooded area in their backyard that they don’t use at all, handy for carcass tossing.

I traipse out in the yard in my pajamas and ginormous fuzzy blue slippers.  First, I poke Mister Possum with my slipper to make sure he really is no longer of this world, and he is not of this world, he is on the spiritual plane o’ possums.  And then I go to grab his tail to frisbee him over the fence.

 And.

And.

And.

And…his tail comes off in my hand!  Ohhhhhhhhh myyyyyyy godddddddddddddd ok now I’m squeamish I have a possum tail in my hand and a dead possum on the ground aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack what have I done to deserve this oh the possum tail is cold it’s collllllllld ack ack ack ack ack!

I took a deep breath—not a good idea in hindsight, because the possum really smelled bad.  I threw the tail over the fence and did a little dance of revulsion.  After that, I stared at the possum, afraid to pick it up because if its head came off in my hand, I would officially spew chunks.

One of my dogs, Julie Beans, must’ve known I was in need of an answer.  She brought me a big stick.  Aha!  I took the stick from Julie Beans,  found another big stick and made myself some carcass tongs.  I tonged the carcass with the sticks just like a bowl of that house salad at Olive Garden, and then I chucked the possum and possum tongs over the fence.

Just a run of the mill Saturday morning at my house.  How was your weekend?