| Three Days, Three Nights of the 'Possum (The following is a work of fiction, and none of the events described herein should be construed as factual or representative of actual events) "For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale's belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth." (Matt 12:40) The weekend before Christmas 2003 I had spotted the big 'possum on a couple of earlier occasions. As 'possums go he was really something I suppose. About 30" long from nose to tip of its fleshy pink tail and over twelve pounds of carrion eating gristle and suet. He seemed to carry himself with an air of superiority, as if he had established a high place in the pecking order of the litter box lunch set. I had spotted him first a month earlier when he passed by the rear of the condominium and deigned to gaze in my direction and look down at me past his grinning snout of fifty teeth. I didn't get him that night but I did get one of his minions. Ever since then he hadn't been his haughty self. He was a bit more furtive now, a trifle more cautious and wary. But, he wasn't smart enough to move on, and find a new patch of suburbia to defile with his encephalitic spores, and his scat, and his freakish shadow that he cast on the rear wall of the yard like some ghoulish phantom grave robber, which of course he was. The opossum haven't changed for 70 million years, I doubted they would change for me. On that last Friday before Christmas all was peace. All was light. My girlfriend and I had decorated her condo with care some days before. We had put up lights and a tree, lit candles and played Christmas music. All was as it should be, except for our furtive glances and stares out the side and rear windows of her home looking for the sparsely haired hides and ropey tails of our dreaded visitors. They were a nightly appearance, always expected, yet somehow always alarming. Loathsome. I spotted him that evening scamper by on the rear wall and make his way down to the end of the block wall and stop. I knew he would be back, so I quickly retrieved the air rifle from a closet, several pellets and my headlamp and doused all the lights. I went outside and loaded the single shot rifle and ducked low so the beast would not spot me until it was too late. Patricia watched aghast from inside. It was a cold night and it had been threatening to rain. It added to the Christmas feel during the holidays. However, visions of sugar plum fairies did not dance through our heads. I popped my head up to see Signor Cabeza Mierda making double time on the wall coming in my direction. I dropped low and clicked the safety off the rifle and readied my headlamp. I waited 10 seconds or so and then he appeared around the corner, I hit the headlight switch and he froze in his tracks. I aimed for the spot between his blazing eyes and squeezed off the shot. He looked dumbfounded. A moment of disbelief perhaps. Then he lurched to his left and fell heavily 6 feet to the ground below, on the outside of the condo block wall. "Ha!" I thought. Merry Christmas you FREAK! I had bagged el grande. I peered over the wall and spotted my vanquished foe below the wall. He was completely still. I had dropped him with one shot instantly! I was sure the best thing to do was to let him lie there and bleed out and in the morning I would go around the wall and dispose of his ass. It was beginning to rain now so I went inside to where it was warm, and safe and while I dreaded dealing with the remains in the morning, I knew the 'possum was in more or less plain sight and would need to be taken care of. I woke the next morning and delayed the inevitable as long as possible and then went out and casually tossed a shovel over the top of the block wall. I blithely went out the front of the house and around the end of the unit to the sidewalk and street below. I walked to the point below where the 'possum had fallen and looked around for any neighbors. The coast seemed clear, so I scampered up the low hill to where it lay. Something didn't look right. Instead of the 'possum looking stiff and cold, it appeared to be snoozing. It wasn't against the wall as it had been right after the shooting, instead it appeared to be 10 inches or so away from that spot. I poked it with the shovel and it moved! Son of a bitch! The thing was still alive, 12 hours after being shot through the head it was still alive. I grabbed the shovel, and decided to wait until dark to put a second shot through Mr. Big Stuff's head. Darkness eventually fell and with it came a cold freezing rain as I reached over the wall with a 2nd lead surprise for my friend. At point blank range I let him have it. It was curious to me that there was no blood. Curious indeed. He had recoiled slightly at the impact but other than that no reaction. I took that to mean he was close to croaking anyway and the 2nd pellet was just the coup de grace. In the morning I again tossed over a shovel and a large fruit packing box over the wall and casually walked around to the outside neighborhood. I again made sure the coast was clear and clambered up the short rise to where "IT" lay. Once again it was not in the exact same position from the night before. It again appeared to be a little worse for wear but not a stiff corpse. I noticed it was breathing. Hmmmm. Breathing equals NOT DEAD. How the hell could this be? Two shots through the head? Two nights of freezing rain with no food, water, state of the art medical help or even an aspirin and this Son of the Devil was BREATHING!?! This was not what I was expecting. This was more than I had signed up for. In for a penny, in for a pound, but this was getting to me. Presidents died of single gun shot wounds to the head. Hell, so did bull elephants, lions, mafia members and just about anything else I could think of. But not 'possums. Sweet Jesus. I couldn't just keep shooting it over and over again. I had to find a way to kill it with out completely grossing myself out. I can't kill something if I am not mad at it. And I can't stay mad for very long. I needed to come up with something decisive. I decided to gas it with poison gopher bombs that I had once used to fumigate gopher holes. That afternoon I stopped at a home improvement store and purchased a six pack of Giant Destroyers which were guaranteed to kill "Gophers, squirrels, moles and rats". I tried not to notice that 'possums were absent from the list. That night I placed the box over the cozy little monster and covered that with a large plastic garbage bag to keep in the toxic smoke. I lit the fuse of a Giant Destroyer and threw it under the box next to the 'possum. Within seconds I heard the Giant Destroyer really start going and the creature began flopping around inside the box. It was a good thing I was holding the box down with a shovel as it was flopping around so much that I had to put my whole weight on the thing to stop it from flipping the box. I could smell burning 'possum hair, and tons of smoke poured down the street. It looked like a forest fire. So much for discretion. The critter flopped around for a good 3 or 4 minutes. Finally it stopped. I had killed it. The next morning was a work day. I had to leave early for work and had no time to mess with Mr. "P". After work it was already dark by the time I arrived to remove what I was sure was one dead 'possum. Two shots through the head, poison gas, freezing rain - I was sure it was gone. I parked my truck outside of the Condo complex. Patricia was out Christmas shopping. I needed to put an end to this. I parked close to where the 'possum lay so I could just hop out, throw the critter in the box and dispose of it. I retrieved the shovel and approached the 'possum. Before I even clambered up the low hill I heard it. It was raggedly breathing and wheezing as it lay in a heap under the box where I'd left it the night before. Oh, Fuck. What was the DEAL?? How was this even remotely possible? I called my girlfriend on her cell. "Its STILL ALIVE!" I said. We talked for a few moments, and I told her I would take care of it, I just needed some reassurance that I hadn't entered some altered plane of existence. How can anything still be alive after all that. I had a plan now. I went back to the home improvement / murder emporium and purchased 15 ft of strong rope, a 10 ft length of 2" pvc pipe and a roll of Duct tape. I wondered how many people were covering up their crime of hate in much the same way just 3 days before Christmas. I quickly drove back to the scene of the crime and quickly fashioned a noose from the rope, pipe and duct tape. I snared the wheezing, twitching 'possum around the neck and attempted to lift it into a big white death bucket. The vermin was so heavy that the pole simply bent in half when I tried to lift it. So I had to climb the wall and essentially lift it up perpendicular to the ground in order to lift it to the bucket. I picked it up and for the first time I had a clear view of it and it of me. As it stared back at me through its slitted eyes I lowered it into the bucket as it weakly struggled to avoid its fate. I slid the lid of the paint bucket down over the length of the pole through the hole at the top of the lid. I jumped down from the wall and stomped the lid shut, released the noose and screwed the hole cover into place. I had it. Finally. I called my girlfriend to let her know I was in charge. I was victorious. I drove to a high bridge over a deep storm control channel, parked and then walked to the edge and heaved the bucket high in the air and watched it plummet to the cement canyon below. I was exhausted but triumphant. |
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