"Where'd you get that?" says a friend.
"The Internet...where else?"
I feel like Wile E. Coyote trying to catch an elusive Road Runner.
So Friday night, I get all set and ready. With great love and attention the trap for Blindie, the chariot to her new life, was placed. I had to put the food and water in small dishes to fit, including a plastic sorbet cup from the Espresso/Gelato kiosk at the National Gallery of Art (for the water). I had already placed a comfy tea towel and a flowery shirt I'd worn at the bottom for comfort. I was a little scared about what would happen next, but I took a deep breath and locked the iron security gate and the back door.
Finally, I went to bed. For some reason, I couldn't sleep and got up around 4a.m. Out of curiosity, I peeped through the kitchen curtains on the door to the backyard. It was still dark and all I could see was that the door in the back of the live trap had closed. Was Blindie inside? I turned the key to unlock the door.
Above a pink round nose at the end of a long snout were the two terrified eyes of a teenage possum. The two of us locked eyes for a few seconds...and then I closed the door. I needed time to regain my composure and think of a plan.
Opossums, America's only marsupial, are actually very gentle and sweet creatures in my experience. I've been bewildered since childhood at their relatively successful adaptation to urban life. Apparently "playing possum" is pretty effective. They are opportunistic animals who can be a benefit to a neighborhood since they eat roaches, crickets, beetles, mice and rats. Also trash and pet food, apparently. It's a tough life for a not-that-bright, docile, non-aggressive critter -- dogs (and some people) like to kill them.
Possums are for-real wild animals. I was a little worried that it might bite me out of fear (being a youngun). After watching some MTV and having some soothing cookies and soy milk, I put on some jeans (tight around the seat and thighs for mobility, boot cut at the bottom with extra fabric to camoflage my legs in case of a lunge-and-bite), some athlete shoes (full foot coverage) and some thick gardening gloves. Then I opened the back door and gate.
Enough time had passed and the possum had moved to the back of the cage to sleep. It was not a baby but not yet a full size adult. It remained quite still as I unlocked the escape door and rotated the cage in the air to set it in the direction of the garden (as opposed to me and my house). I took a deep breath and lifted the door. The possum took a deep breath -- and bolted out of the cage at full bear. It was gone in less than 3 seconds.
The next night, I took a break to strategize -- after all, my God, what else out there was feeding on Blindie's kitten chow? There was a certain amount of possum poop in the cage so I also took Sat to clean it up, including my grandmother's ancient tea towel. It laundered surprisingly well. Possum poo doesn't have much of a smell, believe it or not. The possum also chewed up the gelato cup so a new small container had to be found.
Sun night, I had a new plan. I would leave the bright yellow mud room light on. Surely, that might dissuade the sighted critters. That way, they could get a very good look at the contraption. I also left out the soft disguising material. Again, the idea was to allow a smart animal to see that there was a trap.
Day is the same as night for Blindie and s/he wouldn't be able to see the lever in front of the food and water dishes. This was an attempt to use some animal psychology. I was most afraid of catching a coyote cub (they've been spotted in the neighborhood) or god help me a raccoon. Having tangled with coons on camping trips before including in the Everglades -- I have a healthy level of fear and respect for the monkey-smart, monkey-vicious animals. For coons, I left the door unlocked, figuring that a really smart one might be able to lift the door with its little hands and let itself out in a way that a cat or other animal could not.
Well, all that animal psychology was for naught -- I caught a big old mean alley cat. It was drowsy this am but woke up ready to rumble when I came out the back door. It turned and writhed in its cage. It was scarier than the possum! I tried to send some positive mental vibes to the tune of "It will be easier for me to let you out if you settle down, little fella". It calmed down a little and similarly bolted out of the cage once I let it out.
So my new strategy is to do the same thing for awhile. Once the neighborhood's strays have experienced lockdown, they are likely to leave the cage and the mudroom alone. So Blindie will eventually have a clear path to the trap. That is, if Blindie's still alive. I sure hope s/he is.
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