Today: A Deluge of Possums

Photo credit @anangryopposum

Early this morning, right after our family had just woken up for the day, the children, Jon and I were hanging out in my bedroom, sitting on the bed, and talking about how weird it was that Jon had seen a baby possum behind the dryer a few days earlier.

As if on cue, a small but remarkably bold possum nonchalantly meandered into the bedroom where we were all sitting, coming in from the hall. We all stared in disbelief at this calmly arrogant possum; he stopped, staring right back at us in an offensively brazen manner.

And that’s when I started screaming my head off.

I had never seen a live possum before, but I’d been having nightmares about them for days, ever since the behind-the-dryer sighting. And here was an actual, flesh and blood possum….IN. MY. BEDROOM.

My screaming seemed to irritate the otherwise chill possum, causing him to turn and walk away, directly into my closet. He definitely just walked, not ran. This possum clearly believed that he had every right to be there.

The Arrogant Possum, Inside My Closet

My son E urged me to quit my shrieking, and he and Jon sprung into action. Pretty quickly, however, it became E’s show. He directed Jon to find a plastic box as he began digging around in the pile of clothes on my closet floor, looking for the possum.

Watching her big brother attempt to locate the possum, three year old C offered, “Be careful E! Possums are very meticulous.”

E appreciated the input, but he still suggested that I take his little sisters out of the room, which I did. Moments later, E emerged with the possum safely stowed inside the plastic box. He and Jon then took the possum to the park at the end of our street, where they let him loose.

All day long, I tried to convince myself that the possum E had moved into new digs down the street was the only possum living in my house. Yet, I had to wonder how a possum that small would end up in our house unless he had been born there, meaning there had to be others. Maybe LOTS of others.


Tonight, J was upstairs watching TV, while Jon, C and G were already asleep. I was working in the living room when I heard E holler from the mudporch on the back of our house, the room where we do laundry. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, so I went to check. By this time, I’d managed to put The Possum Issue out of my mind, so I was totally surprised when E pointed to one of the large windows that flank our mudporch. There, trapped between the window and the screen was ANOTHER POSSUM.

E sprung into action, devising a plan to get the possum to climb down into a laundry basket by separating the screen from the 100 year old panel window. The windows swing out, and the mudporch is way up high on the back of our house, so E was concerned that if he wasn’t careful, the possum would fall off, and would tumble 40 or 50 feet to the driveway below.

Instead, the possum looked extremely angry, and he quickly climbed UP the glass and wood window, seemingly defying the laws of gravity. He ended up perched on the narrow top edge of the window, which was swung out over the driveway, perilously high up in the air.

One Angry Possum, Cheating Death

E then came up with a new plan. He positioned a laundry basket directly below the window — leaning out from the house — and with his other hand, he began poking the possum with a lacrosse stick, trying to get him to climb down into the basket in the same quite remarkable way he’d climbed up.

Instead, the small possum began viciously attacking the stick, baring his needle sharp teeth and sinking them into the tape wrapped around the handle. This possum was PISSED OFF, and he made it clear that he HATED that lacrosse stick, and he hated E, even though E was trying to save his life.

The possum wouldn’t let go. He clung tenaciously to the sliver of window that stood between him and certain death below, while at the same time spitting and gnawing at the lacrosse stick.

Next, E tried scooping the possum up in the pocket end of his stick, but this sent the angry possum over the edge, literally and figuratively. The possum began his descent down the window, an impossible task, growling and hissing the whole way. Momentarily, he lost his grip and tumbled into the tall, narrow laundry basket E was holding under the window for just this purpose.

Possum, Now Livid, Captured In A Laundry Basket

While the first possum of the day — the one who had meandered through our bedroom — had exuded a calm and unflappable confidence (which was repulsive in its own way) this new possum was, for lack of a better way to describe it, totally and completely crazypants.

The possum screamed. He growled. He spit. He made noises I can’t even describe, but I am pretty sure he was channeling Satan. He tried to climb the side of the basket and eat E’s eyeballs right out of his face. This possum clearly had anger issues. He was scary. There was absolutely nothing even remotely “cute” about him.

E and The Very Angry Possum

Since E and I were the only people in our family who were awake and downstairs (“Team Possum” is what we were), we had to figure out what to do with the possum without any input. It was too late to walk all the way to the park down the street, so we decided to take the possum down to the grassy area at the bank of the greenway creek behind our block of old houses. And that’s what we did. E carried the basket, with the nasty possum hissing and throwing himself at the sides of the basket the entire way.

E Carries The Repulsive Possum Down to the Creek

When we got back to the house, E announced, “two down, two to go.” When I asked him what he meant, he said he assumes that possums have three babies, and with the mother possum, that makes four possums living in our house, meaning that Team Possum has two more possum relocation events ahead.

Possums are gross. Now that I’ve dealt with two in one day, I am even more convinced of this.

Originally published at Mamapundit


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