And the Culprit Is...

So glad it wasn't a coon.
Or a skunk.
Or a possum.

Although.
Last week we heard a scratchy noise.
Right outside our sliding glass doors.
The sliding glass doors that go into our family room.
Were we spend nearly every evening.
So I go over.
Stick my head up to the glass.
And...
See a little possum.
Peeking at me.
Ewww!

I kicked at the door.
And yelled at it.
That was effective.
It moved about 2 feet from the door.
Turned.
And looked at me.
Kinda' like: you gonna do something?

Of course Jake jumped up:
I'm getting my pellet gun!

I don't think so son.
That possum is on my front patio.
I don't want possum blood all over.
(Sorry for those of you that are squeamish.)

Hi.
Welcome to our house.
Oh.
Pardon the crime scene.
We killed a possum.
No.
Really.
It was a possum.
Come on in!
What's that smell, you ask?
It's just possum stew.
Been simmering all day.
Want some?

A lovely welcome to our home.

Are we hicks?
The kicking at doors.
Yelling at wild animals.
Grabbing guns.
Sounds like we are on our way at least.

By the way.
The house next door is for sale.
Any one want to buy it?
It's been on the market for over a year now.

Can't imagine why...