Jerry and I visited friends who own a farm yesterday, and we got to talk about animals and various critters on a farm. It reminded me of how, in the years since we first moved to New Jersey, we’ve been visited by all manner of beasts, to the extent that I joked about my house being part of the wild kingdom. Remember me talking about the squirrel on the plane? Well, there are worse things than that.
I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. On occasion we might have gotten a field mouse in the house, which my Dad would set traps for and the next day dispose of trap and victim of said trap. We didn’t have dogs or cats because my Mom didn’t like either, but we did have turtles, parakeets and fish tanks full of tropical fish. When I met Jerry he had a teddy bear hamster which either died or escaped, but it was long gone before we got married and moved in together. When we had our first apartment we had plenty of cockroaches, but were never able to train any of them.
Anyway, when our son Jared was four we moved to New Jersey. No roaches not even a mouse stirred in our house. Jared once or twice brought home goldfish, which generally died soon after acquisition.
One evening when Jared was around seven or eight we were in our family room watching TV. From outside on our patio steps we could hear a rustling noise. Because we live in a townhouse community we have specific nights where we’re allowed to put the trash out at the dumpsters, otherwise the bags have to stay in our yard. This was one of those nights where the bags were out there waiting till the next morning when we could move them to the dumpsters. I thought it was a cat rustling the bags in search of something, so I pulled back the blinds to tap on the glass and chase it away. I’m not sure who screamed first, Jared or myself.
Staring back at us was a creature the like of which I’d never seen before. It had red, beady eyes; a mouthful of sharp looking teeth which were bared in a feral snarl; claws, a bubble gum pink nose and a long, pink tail. We shrieked in horror as Jerry came running to see what the ruckus was. It looked like a rat – or, as Jared so aptly claimed, a giant, mutated rat! It had ripped open the garbage bag and was working at gnawing on the leftover chicken bones from our Boston Market meals. Jerry decided he wanted to be a hero and chase it away, so he grabbed a broom and a flashlight. We stopped him before he opened the patio door, as we were afraid it would make a dash into the house. This creature wasn’t scared of us at all. We tapped on the glass inches from its face. We shone the flashlight directly into its eyes. We screamed, “Shoo! Go away!” at the top of our lungs. It brazenly mocked us by refusing to budge until it ate its fill, and finally left in its own sweet time.
It took some research on the Internet the next day to find out the name of this creature was a possum. I know how funny it sounds now, but trust me – I never saw a possum when I lived in Brooklyn. After the initial fear faded, Jared was kind of happy that he’d had the experience of seeing this awesome, frightening creature. I was afraid to open my patio door for weeks to come, fearful that it was back and would somehow make a mad dash inside. The reality is, we never saw it again.
I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. On occasion we might have gotten a field mouse in the house, which my Dad would set traps for and the next day dispose of trap and victim of said trap. We didn’t have dogs or cats because my Mom didn’t like either, but we did have turtles, parakeets and fish tanks full of tropical fish. When I met Jerry he had a teddy bear hamster which either died or escaped, but it was long gone before we got married and moved in together. When we had our first apartment we had plenty of cockroaches, but were never able to train any of them.
Anyway, when our son Jared was four we moved to New Jersey. No roaches not even a mouse stirred in our house. Jared once or twice brought home goldfish, which generally died soon after acquisition.
One evening when Jared was around seven or eight we were in our family room watching TV. From outside on our patio steps we could hear a rustling noise. Because we live in a townhouse community we have specific nights where we’re allowed to put the trash out at the dumpsters, otherwise the bags have to stay in our yard. This was one of those nights where the bags were out there waiting till the next morning when we could move them to the dumpsters. I thought it was a cat rustling the bags in search of something, so I pulled back the blinds to tap on the glass and chase it away. I’m not sure who screamed first, Jared or myself.
Staring back at us was a creature the like of which I’d never seen before. It had red, beady eyes; a mouthful of sharp looking teeth which were bared in a feral snarl; claws, a bubble gum pink nose and a long, pink tail. We shrieked in horror as Jerry came running to see what the ruckus was. It looked like a rat – or, as Jared so aptly claimed, a giant, mutated rat! It had ripped open the garbage bag and was working at gnawing on the leftover chicken bones from our Boston Market meals. Jerry decided he wanted to be a hero and chase it away, so he grabbed a broom and a flashlight. We stopped him before he opened the patio door, as we were afraid it would make a dash into the house. This creature wasn’t scared of us at all. We tapped on the glass inches from its face. We shone the flashlight directly into its eyes. We screamed, “Shoo! Go away!” at the top of our lungs. It brazenly mocked us by refusing to budge until it ate its fill, and finally left in its own sweet time.
It took some research on the Internet the next day to find out the name of this creature was a possum. I know how funny it sounds now, but trust me – I never saw a possum when I lived in Brooklyn. After the initial fear faded, Jared was kind of happy that he’d had the experience of seeing this awesome, frightening creature. I was afraid to open my patio door for weeks to come, fearful that it was back and would somehow make a mad dash inside. The reality is, we never saw it again.
