Here's a scene: You're sound asleep at 2 a.m. after 8 hours of work, 4 hours of school and 2 hours of commuting. You're pulled out of your dreams by the sound of something quietly scooting around the floor at the front of the bed. It comes toward you and you wake more with each of its steps. It leans over you and its hair brushes your face... and then you hear, "Buddy, are you awake? I think there's another possum downstairs. I can hear it."
There's nothing like your wife scaring the drool off your cheek in the middle of the night.
"Amanda, there is no possum. The dude came and caught it the other day," was what I think I mumbled in response. I was still half-asleep.
"No, I hear it," she said, continuing to pace in the dark. "We need to go outside and look."
Our nightly walks with flashlights around the house have become commonplace, and I'm pretty sure we're the new scary neighbors on the block, like the ones who lived across the street from Tom Hanks in The 'Burbs.
Unlike previous evenings, we saw nothing under the house -- because the possum had been caught already. I've heard of people have ghost pains where they lost limbs. Amanda hears ghost sounds when we lose possums, or so I thought.
After coming home from work tonight, Amanda again insisted hearing something. She and Sergio went outside to check (as I held my ground and opinion inside). Sure enough, they saw a possum peeking through one of the caged vents.
I couldn't believe it when they told me moments later. I went back outside with Amanda to check all of the vents into the house. All were intact and the previously broken vent was still fixed. A possum was surely caught, but it wasn't alone.
How many can be down there?! Our pest control contractor, wanting to keep our business and my rants off the Internet, should have a COMPLETE count for us tomorrow -- or else.