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The Possum and the Fleas by Marian Drake
Oooooh! No, there aren't any good flea dips ?? not if you got fleas yourself, or if they are in your house!! For anyone ready for another Morris True Life Adventure, read on! (Otherwise, put me on your twit list.) The house I lived in before I sold it and moved to the Big City was a teen-ine-tsy cottage, very old, which stood in the middle of a 3/4 acre piece of property in a suburb. The property was like a park ?? lawn area, with a garden area around the edges, lots of fragrant flowering shrubs that must have been 60 years old, and huge trees, including a silver cottonwood with three trunks, each so big a large man could not encompass one with both his arms outstretched. There were also fir and maple trees. It was HEAVEN (except for the year?by?year increase in city traffic roar. But that is another story you already know about me.) Well, we also had lots and lots of wild birds, and some wild animals, including raccoon once in a while, and, of course possums. It was a hot summer, and the back porch door was open. The cottage sat virtually on the ground. No foundation! [Don't ask about the dry rot and the flying swarms of dry wood termites ?? they had long ago been taken care of by a carpenter replacing the entire floor of the bathroom, the leaky, rusted out shower stall and some of the support beams.] One evening I stepped inside my back porch door, and what did I see? A baby possum, backed into a corner. It was about as big as a 10 month old kitten, but much fatter, and shorter in overall length. And HISSING with the biggest mouth anyone can imagine. It was one mad li'l possum baby. Trapped! So I just took my broom (non?gypsy women have brooms, too and they are good for lots of things, including sweeping out possums), and swept the little possum gently back outside into the night. Closed the door. About a week later, I woke up one morning and there by my bed was some animal dung. My bed was on a metal frame, raised about 3 feet off the floor, but I did not like that sight at all, since I had no cat nor no dog. I wondered what animal had come into my home to do that rude thing. The dung was directly below my head, off to the side, on the floor. So I determined to find out. I took a little brass bell that I had knocking around the house -- the kind from India, you know -- and set it RIGHT THERE, next to my bed -- after I had cleaned up the dung, of course. And I waited. That night I went to bed. I woke up, right on time as usual the next morning and checked. No dung. "Mysterious," I thought. "Where is the animal? Why hasn't it rung the bell in the night to wake me up?" I sleepily went into the kitchen, then into the living room, and forgot all about it until I wanted to play the piano. Well! Right there by the pedals -- dung! So that night, I put the bell right where THAT dung heap had been, next to the piano. Still, the bell did not ring. But I DID hear some scuttling in my bedroom about five o'clock in the morning, when it was still dark. As quietly but swiftly as I could, I sat up and turned on the light. I heard it running away! It "scritched" when it ran. But I did not SEE it!! I was beginning to get scared. "So this is what life must have been like for people before they had electricity," I philosophized. I began to have greater appreciation for Thomas Edison -- and even the utility company! So I decided I better rent a live-trap and get that animal -- whatever it was -- out of my house!! First, I called the county extension office to find out what possums ate, because that is what I figured it was. They told me to put some tuna fish and one of the apples from my apple tree in the trap. I called all around until I located a tool rental place, and rented a live trap. By this time, the animal had been inside my home for about 5 days. I
set the trap by the piano. Sighing in discouragement, but determined to get the critter out, the next night I did move the trap right where the first dung had been. Next to my bed, right near the headboard, but on the floor, of course. At precisely five o'clock a.m. I woke with a start! KER-WHANGGG! The trap went off!!! I knew I had some creature in there! I turned on the light sleepily, and crept out of bed. I stooped down and tried, in the narrow space between the bed, the trap, and the wall of my tiny little bedroom, to get my head close enough to see inside the trap. But I could not get down far enough to see in. So I timidly picked up the trap and took it carefully into the living room. First, I turned on the light. I set the live-trap on the piano bench so I did not have to lean down so far. The trap was only about eight inches high, you see. I looked inside the trap -- and there it was! A possum was in that trap, which when it was about five inches from my face, did not look like a baby any more. And HISSING -- MAN, WAS IT HISSING. One mad, mad creature. It's mouth was open and I could see the pink gums, the pink pallet, and tiny sharp teeth. It was NOT cute at all! It scared the livin' daylights out of me. How the heck was I going to get it out of the trap? I got a quick breakfast, and sat for a few minutes studying -- at a comfortable distance -- the mechanics of the trap release device until I figured out what I would do. It was still dark outside, and I knew I better act fast before the neighbors caught on to what I had in mind. I took the trap with the possum in it out and put it in the car. Then I got into the car, too, and started it up. We (the possum and I ) drove about 5 miles out into the countryside, until we came to an orchard which had no visible house near it. It was starting to get light. I knew no farmer or orchardist would be at all happy with me if they knew I was giving them a possum for a present. But I did not know what else to do! So I set the trap on the ground, released the trip mechanism, sprinted back to the car and jumped in to watch. I did not have long to wait -- pretty soon, out ran the baby possum. Did you know that possums run on tippy toe? Well, this one did, and it galloped away into the trees. It was almost light -- I scrambled out of the car, grabbed the trap so I could turn it back in to the rental place, and drove home. Part 2. The fleas. Remember, the possum had been in my house for nearly a week, running loose? Well, I thought I was finished with the possum story when I turned it loose in the orchard that day. But about another week after THAT, I got up one morning and was instantly jumped upon by half-a-zillion fleas! Since I had no dog, cat, or possum, I guessed it was ME they wanted! I could not believe this! "Oh, Lord, what did I do to deserve this?" I wondered. I went to the local pharmacy/variety store and bought two cans of flea bomb -- guaranteed to work, the can said. That had worked for me before. The next day, I bombed my house, and stayed away for the whole day. That night I came back, and aired the place out. For the next few days all I had were about 3 fleas a day. A week later -- it all started over. Woke up, and this time it must have been not a half-zillion fleas but a zillion and a half. I had kept my receipt, and went back and asked for a refund of my fifteen dollars for the flea bombs. Got the refund, and went to the farm store. This was getting serious. I asked them what they had in the way of power flea bombs. Bought that. Made sure it was guaranteed to work. Bombed the house again. Meanwhile, I had received a packet of materials from the county extension office. It told how many eggs ONE female flea carried. A bunch, let me tell you. I began to have more appreciation for my parents. You see, a year before, when I had a cat, I told them my cat had a "few fleas" and my parents had recoiled in horror and insisted on visiting me in their car -- they had not come into my house at all. I thought they were weird and very rude. Somehow, I now began to see their point of view. A week later -- fleas. As many as before. As soon as business hours were open, I started calling around to exterminators. They wanted eight hundred dollars, and said they would not only have to spray inside and under my house, but also all around my yard for a 50 foot radius. In MY yard -- the one with the trees, the wild birds and the raccoons? NO WAY. I kept trying exterminators. Finally, one said he would come out for eighty dollars, and that he would guarantee his work. He said he would NOT need to spray the yard, and would come back over and over till all the fleas were gone. He came. I liked him. He told me he was dying of leukemia, which he had gotten from his business as an exterminator all these years But he was a nice guy -- very matter-of-fact about the leukemia. And confident he could solve my flea problem. (I wasn't so matter-of-fact about that dear man's leukemia -- but I must say I was more worried about MY fleas at the time, than I was about his leukemia. That is how bad it was.) Well, it even took HIM three repeat visits till all the fleas were gone. So please, don't try to talk to me about flea dips.
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