At home in Hills
The opening door illuminated the room.Stunned, it didn’t move.A series of screams prompted the ugly creature suddenly to life.It slowly and stupidly waddled across the basement floor, eventually taking refuge under a guest bed in a far corner.Footsteps quickly ascending three flights of stairs followed the screams through the house.Following a winded and haphazard explanation, the man of the house went to investigate and retrieve the laundry now held hostage in the dryer.Again, as the lights came on, it froze in the doorway.Now, in addition to being ugly and stupid, it was showing signs of bravery.How could it have come out from hiding so quickly? Not even five minutes had lapsed between the initial discovery and this second finding.This time it did not hide as it had. Again, it went for the bed, but only pulling half its body underneath, its backside and considerably grotesque tail exposed in full light.Once the man had confirmation of its existence and was informed that it would not be an option to kill it while it was in the basement, a call for a plan of attack was necessary.Without hunting skills, weapons of war or any prior experience, a plan was not quick in the making.Phone calls were made, suggestions were taken – yet the laundry remained unclaimed.Armed with the protection of a broomstick, the man rescued the laundry, and I, the woman of the house, developed a foolproof plan.We needed to recruit help. We needed a local hero with experience and trapping skills.That man was Hills City Maintenance Manager Wayne Ward.Within minutes of being contacted regarding "the situation," he delivered a trap of the "no kill" variety.As any good woman would do at this moment, I fled. A work-related commitment took me out of the house for the next two days. I commanded that it be removed before I could return.Night 2 began with the trap set, baited heavily with cat food, but in the morning, the food was gone and the trap door had been closed.Nevertheless, the trap remained empty.Now this monster had added "crafty" to its ever-growing list of personality traits.Night 3, the trap was set again, this time with a trail of yummy kitty morsels leading the way. Clearly, the man was getting braver. No longer did he need the broomstick for protection.But, alas, in the morning that ugly beast had evaded capture.I had no choice but to return home. My state newspaper convention was over, and I doubted Tollefson Publishing would want to put me up in a hotel while I waited this thing out.That night, mustering up all the brave nerves I had, I descended the stairs to the basement. Assuring the safety of my dear love and myself, I carried a broomstick in each hand. Together we reset the trap, strategically placing the food in hard-to-reach places.Even the craftiest of creatures was not going to get fed this time without getting caught.The lights in the basement stayed on to ensure safe passage to and from the laundry area during the evening. The plan was to turn them off before bed and awake to find our furry invader captured.As with many things we do, the plan did not work.When he returned to the basement with the first load of laundry, he could hear a familiar sound. The crunches coming from the cage were just like those we hear when our cats are munching at their bowls.Eureka, this time we had it!Together we used our broomsticks to slide the cage against our dehumidifier. This thing would have to be a Houdini to escape now.For the first time, I looked it in the eyes and almost began to cry.The poor little opossum was scared to death. Instantly, I understood that it hadn’t purposefully wanted to ruin my life, it had just wandered into my basement and was frightened. I am sure it would have preferred to stay with its family and friends for the past three nights, but instead I had trapped it.When Wayne arrived on Monday morning to take the cage and the scared house guest away, I couldn’t help but feel guilty.I did not bother to ask Wayne the fate of the animal; I would rather go on believing it was reunited with its family, and they all decided they would be safer living at the Rez than in my busy neighborhood.Story ideas or comments can be e-mailed to Lexi Moore at lexim@star-herald.com or called in at 962-3561.
