Possums tested with a higher intelligence than more domestic animals like rabbits, dogs and cats – particularly when it came to finding good grub and remembering exactly where it was to go back for more. — From littlethings.com
You can’t put this possum in a cage. — George Jones, American singer/songwriter (1931-2013)
Stepping out on the back porch in the not-so-early morning it became very clear someone or something had enjoyed a party overnight. There on the previously swept floor were overturned Gatorade bottles, an empty cottage cheese container, the bottom part to a chicken salad container, and a plastic jar with remnants of peanut butter smeared inside. Lying not too far from the peanut butter jar was the cap that somehow had been screwed off and separated from the jar.
Further inspection revealed the bottom of the plastics recycle bag had been ripped. What we were dealing with was someone or something looking for party food, free snacks and drinks. There were no other indicators as to who exactly had been there. No noises were heard in the night, no footprints, no personal belongings left behind. Where is Columbo when you need him?
I returned all the debris to the bag. The scattered containers had all been licked clean as a whistle so it was unlikely the intruder would return for more, at least not from the recycle bags. From the shed I retrieve three Havahart traps that hadn’t been used in a while. Each one showed signs of use, a bit rusted, some bent parts, and some of the levers difficult to maneuver. It was likely our intruders were either raccoons or possums. I made sure each lever would snap the trap’s door closed.
The traps were set up on the ground near the deck. That way any mess would not be on the clean porch, nor would they tear into the recycle bags again. By the way there is no foodstuff in the recycle bags. Each container is washed and rinsed. The peanut butter jar was the culprit. By fastening the lid on the jar, I thought we’d be safe.
Out in the freezer was a bag of what I call bait: inedible chicken parts. I slipped the bag into the microwave just long enough to produce a delectable chicken smell. Then distributed chicken parts to the traps near the lever. We would wait until the next morning.
Morning came, we were eager to check our traps and see just what we caught. We found every bit of the bait had disappeared. Only one of the traps had snapped closed and there was no critter inside. Somehow the guy had outsmarted us.
Not to be outdone I checked the traps and lubricated some parts. I set them again. All my best bait was now gone. I opened a large can of albacore tuna. The tuna went into the refrigerator, the juice was the bait. I slid small plastic cups into the traps and sprinkled tuna juice in and around the cups along with the tuna can. Surely, I’d have the bandits by morning.
Eager the next morning, I hurried to the traps. One trap had tripped and all the cups and tuna can were strewn on the ground. Not to worry little critter. Your days are numbered.
Shannon Bardwell is a writer living quietly in the Prairie. Email reaches her at [email protected].
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