Opossum Myths Debunked

Having a possum saunter into your kitchen in the middle of the night is a strange and terrifying experience. Talking to people about possums is even stranger. Everyone seems to have a story, advice, and/or interesting facts about these weird little creatures. I have never actually thought much about possums, but after a whole day of talking, reading and stressing about one particular possum, I have a number of myths that I feel like I should dispel, just because.

Myth #1 Opossums do not carry rabies.
A number of people told me this while I was trying to figure out whether or not I should touch the possum with a festering head wound. (It is amazing I even considered it.) Advice would be shared with the caveat, “but don’t worry, they don’t carry rabies.” However, it turns out that they can carry rabies; however, the occurrence of rabid possums is very low*. Scientist theorize that the body temperature of an opossum is too low for the rabies virus take hold.

Myth #2 Opossums hang from their tails.
The North American opossum is the only mammal in the US with a prehensile tail. Only baby opossums can hang from their tails, because once the opossum gets larger it can no longer hold its own weight and therefore, can no longer hang from its tail*.

Myth #3 Opossums are vicious creatures.
Perhaps the opossum developed this reputation because of its appearance. Opossums look like a larger silver rat with a long scaly tail, small beady black eyes and a pointy mouth full of sharp little teeth. It turns out that opossums are generally very mild mannered and do not attack. One website recommended that if an opossum is found in the house it can be “coaxed outside with a broom.”*

Myth #4 Opossums will play dead*.
This is true. I have actually seen it first hand. One night at Café Europa, Ian and I were walking back to the parking garage when we came upon a baby possum walking through the grass. I don't think I had ever even seen an opossum and therefore was utterly suprised when Ian start yelling and jumping up and down in front of the little thing. The poor baby possum just keeled over. It was then that Ian filled me in on the “playing possum” phenomenon.

Myth #5 Opossums will squirt ink when playing dead.
I saved this for last because it is the weirdest. I was leaving daycare with Bronwen and mentioned to a fellow mother that I had an opossum in the house and was going home to deal with it. As had become a predictable event, the mother started to describe her experiences with her own possum that lives on the tree over her deck and harasses her dog. Her advice to me was to scare it so that it would play dead, and then scoop it up with shovel and take it outside. She said that she had tried this with her own possum invader and it had worked perfectly. There was only one draw back, she said, and that is the “opossum ink” that squirts out. She then went on to describe the sticky black ink that oozed out of her own possum that made her think it was dead, but that turns out simply to be some sort of possum ink. I said that I hoped it didn’t “ink” in my kitchen, but thanks for the advice. I could find nothing on the web about “possum ink” however, at http://www.opossumsocietyus.org/ I found mention of opossum anal gland fluid. Here is what it said,

“Fear can cause release of a greenish-colored anal fluid. Opossums cannot “spray”, and the only way this unpleasant-smelling body fluid can come in contact with you is if your clothes brush the anal area. It washes off easily.”

So there you go. I think that explains that.

Marsupial Invasion

Thirty minutes ago an Opossum with a large open sore on its head sauntered into our kitchen. It walked right passed me as I was sitting at the computer; it turned the corner, leaning into the fridge as it passed. I started to yell,

“Dan there is an Opossum in our kitchen. An Opossum in our kitchen!”

At the sound of my slightly hysterical cries, the Opossum turned to look at me. Our eyes met, and it stood there for a few second before calmly turning around and waddling back out the way it came in. I followed it out of the kitchen and caught a glimpse of its wormy tail as it disappeared down the stairs in to the basement. I slammed the basement door and went to find Dan. He was sleeping. I flicked on the light.

“Dan, there was just a possum in the kitchen. It was acting like it had been there before!”

“Well, I am sure the cats would have gotten it if it had been.”

“What should I do? The litter boxes are downstairs, but I can’t keep the door open! The possum will come back. Do you think it has been visiting often? It had a sore on its head.”

“What, a sore?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that weird?

“Yeah.”

“What if it is rabid?”

“It’s not rabid.”

“Okay, I need back up while I go downstairs to get the litter boxes. Can you stand with the broomstick ready to beat it off if it jumps up on me and starts gnawing my leg?”

“It is not rabid.”

“You didn’t see it. I think it’s been here before. It just looked at me like it wasn’t scared. It is definitely rabid. And the sore on its head, like an abscess; gross!

Dan followed me into the kitchen and stood dutifully with the broomstick, ready to defend me against the R.O.U.S. as I tiptoed down the stairs and grabbed a litter box.

“We are never going to be able to leave the door open again.” I announce as I dropped the stinky litter box down into our pantry.

Since then I have scoured the house looking for evidence of a marsupial infestation. I closed up Bronwen's bedroom, but only after looking under the beds, in the closet and in the laundry basket.

Sometimes we forget how close we live to the rest of the natural world, until the natural world comes walking through our kitchen sporting a cheeky grin and an oozing head wound.

My Newest Obsession

Anyone who knows me well knows that I obsess. I get stuck on something, an idea, project, desire and I simply cannot stop thinking about it. Earlier this year a spent a few weeks being obsessed with the idea of having my own chickens. I research everything about owning chickens, coops, breeds, everything. I wanted chickens of my very own that were going to live in the back yard and be an endless supply of delicious fresh eggs. Dan said no.

Now I am obsessing about scooters. I have always wanted a scooter. Sunshine got that awesome scooter that I rode at her house, Vespas are the cutest ride ever; and today, instead of getting work done, I have been reading everything there is on the Internet about scooters. I have already picked out a few models that I would like to test ride and discovered what dealerships sell them. I have created an entire fantasy scooter world in my head that has me scooting all over town, looking so cute with my matching helmet and Bronwen chilling out in the sidecar. I simply must have one.

What Really Happened

Last night I flashed a security camera in the stairwell of the parking garage. I don’t know what came over me. I was walking up the first flight of stairs to the second floor of the garage when I noticed a large security camera pointing straight down at me. In a manner quite unlike me, I acted immediately on my impulse without thinking about the consequences. I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and yanked it up over my face and pushed out my chest out towards the camera. I lowered my shirt and giggled and ran up the rest of the steps. Breathless and happy I jumped into my car and drove home.

That is the story I wanted to write. Here is what really happened.

Last night after my pottery class when I was climbing the stairs to the second floor of the parking garage I noticed a security camera pointing directly at me. I had this overwhelming urge to flash the camera. I wanted to grab the hem of my t-shirt and yanked it up over my face and shimmy my boobs out at the camera. For almost 10 seconds I stood there contemplating the possible repercussions of taking this action. I decided that what would probably happen would be the following: I flash the camera, no one ever looks at the tape normally, except that on this night, some person reports getting harassed in that very same stairwell so the tape is pulled and rewound and the whole police force gathers around the TV screen to look for the perp when suddenly a 30 something clay covered blond girl comes into view and flashes the camera, giggles and runs away. Then they would come to my house to arrest me for very indecent exposure (no one should have to see that!), and the flashing would go on my permanent record and I would never be able to get a good job again and I would end up living on the streets, digging through trashcans for food and sleeping in that very same stairwell. It would be a tragic story with a tragic end. You can see why I decided to curb my instinct. I climbed the remaining stairs to my car. Nervous and depressed I jumped into my car and drove home.

With My Freeze-Ray I Will Stop the World

I love Joss and he has done it again. Check out the greatest, free, high production blog video ever!

http://drhorrible.com/

Thanks Phil for getting me hooked.

Tums to the Rescue

You know you’ve had a rough night when you wake up in the morning with a hangover, there is a half eaten loaf of bread in the kitchen and there is a trail of Tums bisecting the house. This was exactly the state that the house and I were in two weekends ago. At first I could not remember what exactly happened, but as I stood in the hallway a shadowy memory of the night before began to take shape.

I had had a little too much to drink and like clockwork, I awoke at 3:30am struggling to swallow the acid in my throat. I went directly to the medicine cabinet and took out the family size bottle of Tums I have kept on hand for the last year. I chewed one, then another and went back to bed. 30 minutes later I was up again, this time choking down the acid and the foaming Tums from before. Something was going to have to be done. I needed water, a little bread and more Tums. I stumbled sleepily from the bathroom to the kitchen. Tipping back my head, and stretching my mouth open wide, I shook the bottle of Tums urgently towards my acid scorched throat. Like delicious sweet tarts of relief, the Tums seemed to leap from the bottle, dropping into my mouth and bouncing off my face, skittering across the floor. Chewing was difficult as the chalky medicine got stuck in my teeth and turned my tongue thick and white but I persevered. With a glass of water in hand and a masticated piece of bread left behind on the kitchen counter I lurched back into bed to sleep it off.

God bless the Tums.

The Potty Training Begins

Nothing in your life leading up to the moment it starts will prepare you for potty training. No one ever tells you how it is going to work, or what is going to happen, or the amount of time you will spend talking about poop and pee.

I have not been stressed out about potty training at all. I am ready for Bronwen to remain in diapers indefinitely. After all potty training is really going to slow us down during those long car trips. I would prefer that she stay a little toddler and just gets used to the diaper. It eliminates the stress of embarrassment due to “accidents”, potty talk in public, and just the weirdness of teaching a human to poop on cue.

Bronwen starting sitting on the practice potty a few months ago. She would see me sitting on the toilet and like everything else she does these days, she wanted to do what mommy was doing. I would take off her diaper and sit her there while I went. She would smile and tap her feet on the floor waiting for something to happen. Of course nothing ever happens as she doesn’t understand yet what she supposed to do, but it is pretty cute to see her sitting there. I know that is kind of weird, but anything your kid does that is vaguely grown up is always cute. I don’t know why.

Things have been progressing in this fashion for a few months now. She sits on the potty and taps her feet. She has taken to demanding toilet paper which she holds in her hand then throws away in the “big” toilet when I flush. She always has to wash her hands afterwards. We’ve had a few accidents because I tend to let her run around the house naked. She has suddenly realized that her diaper is uncomfortable and will therefore refuse to have it put back on, and I really don’t care if she doesn’t wear it inside. She will run around until either I get too nervous about the possible mess, or the mess happens. This past Sunday she was standing naked behind me as I was folding dry laundry when she started to cry. This cry was one of those “I am hurt and freaked out” cries so I dropped what I was doing and turned to help her. There she was, naked and crying, her foot in the air, she hates when her feet get dirty, and there was a huge pile of poop with a toddler sized foot print right in the middle of it. We cleaned up the poop, washed her feet and put on a new diaper, but for the rest of the day she would not sit on the potty.

So, as potty training goes, we haven’t really done anything proactive about moving her out of diapers. We are just letting nature take its course. She’s not even two years old, after all. But yesterday things changed. I spoke with her daycare about potty training and they informed me that she is peeing on the potty at school and therefore we should be actively training her at home. I thought our laid back approach was going to work perfectly, but this new daycare pressure is stressing me out. Now I have to learn something about this process. Now I have to, because I am a freak about having information, read about the physiology about toddler bladders and the impact of forced potty training will have on her future self esteem and all about the different methodologies of training a little human to go in a potty. How do you teach something that you can’t remember ever having learned?

My Salad

Last night I decided to make a salad. I was a little depressed about the state of the lettuce I found in the fridge, I think it had been there for almost two weeks, but I figured that I would fill out the bowl with other salad items to make the whole thing a lot more appetizing. I found some snow peas, some feta cheese. I discovered a few shriveled green onions that actually turned out to be very tasty after peeling away the outside layers. The carrots had to be thrown away as a rank smell was emanating from the bag. I had a little chicken salad and some celery that I threw on top. The bowl of salad was starting to look pretty good as I started rummaging around for some salad dressing but something was missing. “It could really use some tomatoes” I thought, suddenly realizing that I have tomatoes growing out in the front yard.

The rain was just letting up as I stepped barefoot out into the gathering dusk. The warm wet concrete felt wonderful and the smell of soft wet dirt and tomato plants wafted on the humidity. I crouched carefully next to the cherry tomato plant and plucked the warm fruit reverently from the plant. Walking back to the house with my tomatoes I stopped to grab some herbs, Thai basil and parsley, to add the salad. Back in the kitchen I cut the tomatoes in half and tossed the pieces into the salad along with the herbs. I am immensely proud of my garden additions and I look forward to expanding the garden and its contents more in the coming years.