I still can’t believe I slept through the carryings-on of Wednesday night, I must be getting older!
After falling asleep twice in front of a sitcom, I just gave up and went upstairs to bed. It was around 8:15, and Davey usually gets home from choir practice no later than 8:45.
Davey is a city boy, raised in the town of Louisville, Kentucky. He never camped, grubbed around in ponds or streams, in fact, rarely ever got dirty. He has a deep distrust of all wildlife bordering on fear. You can imagine his distress at seeing a large rat walk across the front yard of our townhouse, then straight up the wall that comprises the side of our front steps before settling on the stoop in front of the door, effectively blocking his entrance. In fact, the critter peered out from under the iron railing of his vantage point as though daring my poor husband to do anything about it.
The first thing Davey did was to bang on the door of our neighbor and enlist her aid. At his insistence, she called me to bring his pellet gun to him through the back door as the front door had been appropriated by the critter. I got her message the next morning, as my phone had been left downstairs, unheard. Evidentially, she was not inclined to assist him in shooing the creature away and chose to stay inside her own home.
Davey’s next move was to come in through the back door, charge upstairs, load his pellet gun in the bedroom, then down the stairs and back out to slay the beast! Now how in the world could I possibly have managed to sleep through all that? And no, I’d not had a drop of alcohol!
After all that, would you believe the poor critter was not a rat, it was a baby possum! I raised some cain about that, but even so, the poor thing should have run away. Possums aren’t runners, though; they’re stupid, too stupid to understand that people are dangerous. My parents made me to understand at an early age that possums can be vicious and have a dangerous bite, but most of the danger stems from their refusal to run away like every other wild animal, making them a temptation to little children who want to touch everything.
I take responsibility for the whole sad event. If I would have just stayed put on the couch I would’ve heard the phone. At the very least, I would have woke up when Davey came in, and he knows to consult me when it comes to earthier matters. Sometimes it feels as though I have to keep an eye on him all the times! Like last weekend when our new neighbor across the street saw him bonk himself in the face with the counter weight on the tree trimmer and came over to shake her finger at him and give him some safety glasses. What a gal—a credit to the neighborhood! But he’s not her responsibility and nobody loves him as I do.
But the biggest thing is, he counts on me. My upbringing was none too sterile, and I know the difference between a rat and a possum.
