Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Can’t Blame Stupid on the Possum

Finding random animal parts on their front porch was fairly predictable for Grady and Goober. Their old cat, Cat, was quite the nighttime hunter. She’d catch anything that would venture out into the yard or nearby woods, then bring it to the front door and eat it.
Typically she’d go after critters smaller than herself, but this one night she found a possum violating her space. She pounced and so startled the possum that he went dead. She had never had her prey give up so quickly. She slapped him around but he just lay there. Though he was twice the size of Cat she dragged him through the yard, up the steps and positioned him right in front of the door.
Exhausted, she figured she’d rest a while before she enjoyed her dinner. About that time, Goober came to the door. Seems that when Cat put him in front of the door she banged against it, which woke Goober, making him think someone was knocking.
As he opened the door the possum came back to life and darted into the house. Goober screamed. Grady grabbed his twelve gauge and came to the rescue. All he could see in the dark was a black furry ball rolling across the floor. He opened fire.
With only one shell left, Goober turned on the light. Shattered to the ends of the earth were the TV, the fireplace screen, a lamp, a picture of Grady’s and Goober’s parents, and the microwave. Trembling in the corner was the uninjured possum. “There he is!” Goober yelled.
Grady pumped the shotgun, took direct aim at the possum, closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. He missed the possum but blew a hole clean through the wall to the outside. The possum looked at the wall then back at Grady and shook his head. He shuffled through the hole and disappeared into the darkness.  
“That’ll learn him,” Grady said.
“Well, at least you didn’t splatter possum gut all over the wall,” Goober said.
Cat decided it best to stay out in the woods the rest of the night.

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