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                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, January 20, 1992                   TAG: 9201200223
SECTION: EDITORIAL                    PAGE: A-9   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

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MARSUPIAL MISCHIEF

HERE'S THE thing about old houses:

They're full of holes. Critters of all types come in through spaces invisible to the naked human eye.

Of course, this means mice. Mice in the closets, mice in the pump room, mice in the drawer beneath the oven and the cabinets under the sink.

One winter we even had mice in our sweater drawers. I threw away half a dozen sweaters that year.

Then I set traps. Lots and lots of traps. I'd lie awake listening for them to snap, and I'd cackle gleefully into the dark. Revenge for sweaters is sweet.

Sometimes, too, there are snakes. When there are snakes, there are no mice.

But I'd much rather have the mice.

Lately, there's been . . . well, we aren't sure what it is. We speculate a 'possum.

It's something small enough to scramble up the inside of the back porch wall, small enough to walk between the floor joists of the second floor, and yet large enough to make a powerful set of plodding footsteps echo through the house.

Didelphis virginiana. North America's only marsupial. And named for the Old Dominion, too!

That tells us something about the numbers of 'possums living here in the South, don't you think?

My reference book cites 'possums' "extraordinarily diverse diet of insects, other small animals, birds' eggs, mushrooms, grain crops, fruit and carrion."

We store neither grain nor carrion in the house. So, no attraction there.

But it occurs to me that we haven't had mice in the house, either, since the critter's been wandering around.

One night the critter plodded and scrambled, plodded and scrambled, scratched, thumped and apparently pounced on something overhead. Then he - or she or whatever - did it again.

I reckon I do prefer a 'possum to a snake. Despite "their 50 teeth (more than those of any other North American land mammal)" - also cited by my reference book. And it's nice to be without mice.

But I'm not fond of the sound of nocturnal footsteps.

Neither is the cat. You can see it in the slant of her eyes, the nervous switch of her tail, whenever she faces the possibility of having to hunt down that thing.

And then, too, 'possums have up to 14 kits at a time. Yet another reason, it seems to me, to discourage residency.

So last weekend, in broad daylight, the man of the house tacked screen over all the openings he could find under the house.

Since then, the nocturnal footsteps have ceased. The cat is calmer. So am I.

Maybe we'll have mice again. But the cat and I know how to handle them.

Ha! Can you see that glint in my eye?

Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.

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