You’d think that by living in the middle of the city that we would be pretty much void of any real animal wildlife. The actuality is that, although from our vantage point there is asphalt as far as the eye can see, we have an active and varied mix of nocturnal mammalian activity within our neighborhood. [I think it is important to clarify at this point that I am NOT referring to the drug dealers, thieves and other misfits that cruise our neighborhood after dark.]

Nevermind that we are overrun with cats aplenty – on any given night of the week we are guaranteed that we will see either a skunk, possum or raccoon. We even have a humming bird that has continued to visit us this winter regardless of how ridiculously awful the weather gets.

So a few months back when all three of us watched a possum skirt the perimiter of our yard we didn’t think much of it. That is, until we watched it continue it’s way over to the house, then disappear underneath it. Now is the point in the story where I reveal just how little I think of possums and their oversized-rat-like selves. Raccoons and skunks are cute. They are both troublemakers – but they get away with it much better because of their ability to have sweet little pointy faces with large waddling bellies, or amazing dexterity that rivals that of a toddler. Possums on the other hand are not cute under any circumstance, and after getting to listen to their horrid screetch-like sound ALL NIGHT LONG I am no more inclined to cut them any slack. It is bad enough that I will occasionally be standing in the shower and hear and/or feel the oh-so-pleasant scratching at the underside of the tub. DO YOU KNOW HOW CREEPY THAT IS? But to be kept awake all night by the sounds of unhappy possum was another thing entirely – especially when the idea popped into my head that the sound I was hearing could quite well have been possum birthing ritual. Ick. Steve said he seems to think that he thought two possums “fighting” in our backyard a couple of nights ago, so I don’t quite know what to make of it all.

All I do know is that we need to hermedically seal the perimiter of our house so as to keep it from turning into an inner-city wildlife sanctuary. And, pronto.

As for my biased opinions on possums, I think the only thing that might – just might – make my cold heart soften a little would be a new installment from Janell Cannon. But I can’t make any promises.