Alan the Hunter

So I’ve never really been one for hunting. My father took me once when I was maybe 7 or 8, but after I looked down the barrel of the .410 I was supposed to be using, trying to understand how it worked, he vowed to never take me back. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t really a sacrifice for him, and I’ve never really missed hunting. Nothing has ever really appealed to me about getting up well before daylight, putting on multiple layers of clothes, spraying dirt and urine smell on yourself, and sitting in a tree in the cold for hours, hoping something cute and virtually defenseless walks in front of you, so you can kill it, cut it up, and drag 150 lbs of dead animal all the way back to your truck. So I’ve sat and listened to people tell stories about killing some “8-point buck” (whatever that means, exactly) or a duck or a turkey and simply not cared or thought it was all that special.

Well the tables have turned. Mind you, I’m well aware that it is not hunting season. And, I have no intention of doing all the things I just mentioned. But I intend to do some hunting, and if successful, I will post about my spoils later.

Here’s the story. A few weeks ago–the weekend of the fires–a neighborhood cat adopted us. He just walked up, a little too skinny, and laid at our feet, purring, meowing and rolling around. What does any normal person do? We gave him food.

He’s still on our porch.

He has become our third cat, another member of the family. He’s sweet, but not fixed and since he’s already sprayed my truck, he can’t come inside. But, we bought him a little house–that he pulls the blanket out of to sleep beside–and we give him plenty of food, water and attention.

So last night Courtney calls me to tell me there is a huge opossum on our porch, eating the cat’s food. What is the cat doing? Helplessly watching as he is violated. Humiliating experience for the poor cat. Courtney tried opening and slamming the door to scare the beast, but to no avail. The giant opossum ate all the food, drank almost all the water, checked out the cat house, and left. This morning, just as we’ve noticed before, there was no food left again. All three cats are freaked out, and now we are feeding a fourth animal, and one I don’t care for.

To take you back, I had a little run-in with an opossum while I was going to Auburn. Long story short, an opossum that was bigger than my microwave got into my trailer, ate my food, made a mess, and I caught him on the kitchen counter. A chase ensued, containing yelling, cursing and a large barbeque fork. He left, and I’ve hated those vile, ugly creatures ever since.

So, after last night, with Courtney seeing the eyes of Satan in the opossum, she has allowed me to take care of the problem. So I did what every good-hearted American would do–I bought a gun. It’s only a BB-gun, but I went all out. 15-round clip, 25 CO2 cartridges, 1500 BB’s, and a laser sight. You get funny looks leaving Walmart with that type of arsenal at 12:30 in the AM.

At this point I’ve successfully loaded the gun up, fired a couple of magazines off (target practice), reloaded it, sighted it in, and left it by the porch. This oversized rat’s days are numbered. Maybe some might think I’m being mean….that’s fine. I’ve been waiting about 5 years for this, and now I’ve been given the go-ahead to take care of a problem. So you can probably find me on the porch with a flashlight, waiting for the monster to show back up.

Interesting tidbit of trivia I’ve learned in all this. We do not have possums in America–they are only in Australia and New Zealand. They are larger and not as hideous. They are still obnoxious. We have opossums here. They are smaller, uglier, etc. They also have incredible immune systems–they don’t get rabies, and poisonous snakes don’t really bother them. Both are lazy scavengers, and the only ways to get rid of them are to call animal control or….well…….

So there you have it. I’m just as animal rights as anyone else. I love the cute animals, and can’t stand the ugly ones. Especially when they become a nuisance.