After two and half days of steady rain, my young bride was in the backyard Sunday and noticed we had another "visitor" and it had done a J...O...B on her "therapy" beds. So, being the dutiful husband and not wishing to suffer the wrath of the missus, I set my trap with the usual bait of peanut butter, marshmallows and a light squeeze of pancake syrup. Critters love sweets!
I waited until the sun had come up enough to see whether or not I had been successful during the night, and sure enough the trap door was down. Remember the Jim Croce song Bad, Bad Leroy Brown from 1973...the baddest man in town? Well, I trapped his nephew - Leon Brown Possum - and he had more moves in my trap than John Travolta did dancing to the Bee Gees song Stayin' Alive. Leon doesn't have the helmet hair, bell bottomed pants or the rotating crystal ball dangling from the ceiling, but I'm guessing the little fur ball may have taken a few lessons at the Arthur Murray Dance Studio on the other side of town.
As with all the other incarcerated critters that made a poor choice in causing havoc in my piece of utopia, Leon was transported to the same refugee camp as his predecessors yesterday morning....just a few minutes prior to morning mass starting. He mentioned he was religious -- go figure. I know my vision isn't quite what it was 40 years ago; however, I thought I saw two lines of critters along the tree line making what appeared to be a "victory lane" for Leon as he crossed into the brush.
I've got faith in Leon...he's got his youth, dark eyes, nimble toes, manicured fur and white teeth. Oh yeah, the ladies at Camp Bullis will be all over him like a wet t-shirt.
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