Wild Thing

We caught Mother with one of those “humane” traps recommended by the shelter, the kind with a spring-loaded door that she could enter but not leave. We left it out all night by the garage, baited with Toblerones.

In the morning we found her asleep on the cage floor. She had eaten even the foil wrapper.

Dad came out in his pajamas and jiggled the cage with his bare toe. Mother woke with a start and snapped at Dad’s foot.

Good thing I’ve had my shots, he said. I guess we better call the shelter.

The men from the shelter wore heavy leather gloves and padded chest and arm protectors. Mother took an immediate dislike to them, circling the cage and snarling.

She’s a big one, the men from the shelter said.

I’ve read they get big in captivity, Dad said. Dad had changed from his pajamas into his golf clothes. While he made arrangements with the men from the shelter he practiced wedge shots on the front lawn.

They can, the men said. They can grow quite large in captivity.

Mother tried winning our sympathy by standing up and laying her open palms against the bars, as if to play.

Don’t get close to her, the men said.

You kids listen to the men, Dad said.

The men offered a number of options. For fifty dollars they would release her in another neighborhood. For one hundred fifty they would take her to another town. Five hundred dollars got us the next county. Twenty-five hundred delivered her over the state line. Five thousand was good for Canada.

How often do they come back? Dad said.

Mother stretched out in the cage and began cleaning herself.

Hard to say, the men said. There’s never any guarantees. Some of them can be pretty tenacious.

We really don’t want her coming back, Dad said. Let’s do this right the first time.

For Twelve thousand five hundred there’s the Platinum Service to the Pyrenees, the men said. That actually does come with a guarantee.

Dad produced a credit card from his golf shirt pocket. Mother rubbed her face against the bars.

A 100% satisfaction guarantee? he said.

It’s a long swim, the men said.

Dad signed some papers, had the card authorized, and then the men lifted the cage onto the back of their truck. Mother crawled to the cage door and gave us the saddest look. Our little sister held out her arms and began bawling.

Sometimes, the men said, the little ones can get pretty attached.

We stopped our sister bawling by letting her play with Dad’s credit card.

Mother lay down in the cage as the truck began to move.

Dad took a few practice swings with a sand wedge. We went inside and made him breakfast.