Done. Over. Mr. Possum is no longer part of the menagerie in this suburban dwelling. I went MacGyver on his arse. Armed with a common household mop, a broomstick, and twelve feet of telephone wire, I snared the little beast. The first thing a possum does when cornered is growl. The second thing he does is go skunk-like and spray. But since he is not a skunk and lacks the scent glands, he more than makes up for this in scatological offerings. He shit the wall! Oh man does that little bugger stink. I snared his head and was trying to remove him from behind a bakers rack on our deck, but his prehensile tale grabbed everything. True to my word, I walked the bastard down to the library and let him go. It was a this moment that he went limp. I am assuming he is playing dead. Picture above is not of the actual animal, but it would have been a fitting end.
Possum, you have been served.
UPDATE....
Oops. Now I feel bad. He is either dead, or an Oscar worthy 'possum. I am hoping, for karma's sake, he's a really good actor.
