The banging and crashing coming from the garage last night sounded unusual for Ag. Howling is typically her noise of choice. So I called to Don to see if he was out there. When he responded from his office, I decided I'd better check it out. At first all seemed fine and Ag came nonchalantly strolling in from the patio. But a little shuffle and a naked tail poking out from under the tool box revealed the culprit. Now...to get it out...?
By now, Don had come to help. Hmmm. Something long and skinny to push it out with? A broom handle - great idea. Have you ever tried to push a possum-playing-possum with a broom handle? It's not exactly like swishing a tennis ball out from under something (which is, I think, the last thing I can remember using a broom handle for). This was not a small fellow, and he did not particularly like being swished. And moving toward the laughing "attackers" apparently didn't suit him either. He decided to try going up the wall behind the tool box. Lots of frantic scratching and thumping...too slippery and narrow. We repositioned ourselves and had another try with the broom handle, and out he came, heading for (or rather, being herded to - mmm, can you herd one animal?) the patio door.
Unfortunately, Ag was still standing there watching the show. When Mr. Possum came face-to-face with her, she started hissing (now she decides to defend her territory!), and he took a quick detour behind the door. After a little more re-positioning, blocking other exit routes, and broom swishing - not to mention kindly suggesting that he ought to leave - we had him headed off into the night, with Ag arrogantly hissing at his back (take that!).
Hindsight suggests that I might have used more caution. With the door wide open to the world, anything - or anyone - could have come in. But, silly me, I thought we had a watch-cat on duty. I'm reminded of one of my favorite parables, which has nothing to do with possums, but something to do with unguarded doors:
"Once there was an army. It was strong, handsome, and fairly well trained. The soldiers knew their duty. They were assigned to be watchmen on the towers. They were to sound the alarm to warn the people when the enemy approached. In times of relative peace, however, it isn't always easy to remain alert in such an assignment. To help spend the time, the soldiers often invented games to amuse themselves; some of these games required great skill. One game was particularly engrossing, and many soldiers became quite proficient at it. Someone suggested that they start a tournament to determine who in all of the army was the best player. The tournament became the talk of the whole village and even beyond. In fact, game players from all over the land actually began to join the army simply so they could compete in the tournament. Each year great honors were given to the champions, parades were held in tribute to their achievements, and children dreamed of the day when they, too, could join the army to participate in the tournament. Of course the enemy was not disappointed by the tournament's acquired popularity; it was one of the enemy, in fact, who proposed the competition in the first place" (A. LeGrand Richards, BYU devotional address, 14 January 1997).
By now, Don had come to help. Hmmm. Something long and skinny to push it out with? A broom handle - great idea. Have you ever tried to push a possum-playing-possum with a broom handle? It's not exactly like swishing a tennis ball out from under something (which is, I think, the last thing I can remember using a broom handle for). This was not a small fellow, and he did not particularly like being swished. And moving toward the laughing "attackers" apparently didn't suit him either. He decided to try going up the wall behind the tool box. Lots of frantic scratching and thumping...too slippery and narrow. We repositioned ourselves and had another try with the broom handle, and out he came, heading for (or rather, being herded to - mmm, can you herd one animal?) the patio door.
Unfortunately, Ag was still standing there watching the show. When Mr. Possum came face-to-face with her, she started hissing (now she decides to defend her territory!), and he took a quick detour behind the door. After a little more re-positioning, blocking other exit routes, and broom swishing - not to mention kindly suggesting that he ought to leave - we had him headed off into the night, with Ag arrogantly hissing at his back (take that!).
Hindsight suggests that I might have used more caution. With the door wide open to the world, anything - or anyone - could have come in. But, silly me, I thought we had a watch-cat on duty. I'm reminded of one of my favorite parables, which has nothing to do with possums, but something to do with unguarded doors:
"Once there was an army. It was strong, handsome, and fairly well trained. The soldiers knew their duty. They were assigned to be watchmen on the towers. They were to sound the alarm to warn the people when the enemy approached. In times of relative peace, however, it isn't always easy to remain alert in such an assignment. To help spend the time, the soldiers often invented games to amuse themselves; some of these games required great skill. One game was particularly engrossing, and many soldiers became quite proficient at it. Someone suggested that they start a tournament to determine who in all of the army was the best player. The tournament became the talk of the whole village and even beyond. In fact, game players from all over the land actually began to join the army simply so they could compete in the tournament. Each year great honors were given to the champions, parades were held in tribute to their achievements, and children dreamed of the day when they, too, could join the army to participate in the tournament. Of course the enemy was not disappointed by the tournament's acquired popularity; it was one of the enemy, in fact, who proposed the competition in the first place" (A. LeGrand Richards, BYU devotional address, 14 January 1997).
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