Three nights ago Dad left his shop open overnight on accident. The day before yesterday, we found a "present" from some creature that evidently had found its way inside. We left the shop open most of the day to allow the animal time to escape, then closed it for the night. Yesterday, however, I found more "presents," fresh ones, and decided to lay a trap. One plate of kibble surrounded by flour--not really a trap, more of a means to tell what sort of animal we were dealing with. Again, we left the shop open all day, then closed it for the night.
I went to check on the trap this afternoon, and there were tracks in the flour. So whatever it is has not yet found its way out. And no, I don't think it's getting in and out on its own, because it's got to be at least cat-sized given its leavings. No squirrel or rat or other Houdini-sized animal is behind this. It isn't a raccoon, because the tracks weren't right. I'm guessing an opossum. Either that or Sam has summoned another cat to him.
Determined to find the creature alive, I grabbed a flashlight, opened the doors, and set about searching. I'd much rather find a living animal than play "Where's that Smell?" in a few days, trust me. If you've ever played that game, you know it isn't pleasant.
Sam ready to go with his flashlight
I brought Sam in the shop with me to help, since I figured he could catch the trail. I removed the food because I didn't want Sam eating it if the animal had some sort of disease, then started peering into dark corners with my flashlight, calling, "Heeeeere, possum-kitty! Heeeeeeere, possum-kitty!"
My ingenious trap that didn't actually trap anything
After searching the shop fruitlessly, I returned to the flour to study the tracks again. What's this? Fresh markings in the flour I looked at not ten minutes ago? But no, the possum-cat had not resurfaced--rather, Sam had eaten some of the flour. I should have known at this point that things could only go downhill.
Flour? I have no idea what you're talking about.
I looked around again, urging Sam to sniff around the woodpile and following him as he (I thought) eagerly followed a trail. Turns out he wasn't hunting possum-cats, but dead spiders. I knew Sam has a thing for dead worms, but apparently he loves dead bugs too, because he was snapping up those spiderwebs and their inhabitants like it was Christmas. He'd emerge from a corner with cobwebs all over his face, brush at them with his paws, then dive into a new web. Needless to say, not helpful in my possum-cat search.
Bugs are a good source of protein
Once I realized Sam was hunting bugs, I ignored him for a bit and continued searching. I looked behind tools, in trash cans, even up in the loft. Nothing. Looking around for Sam, I realized he wasn't in the shop anymore. I looked outside, and there the slacker was--taking a swim break without permission. The lazy had given up!
Uhhh... the tracks lead to the water! Yeah!
Isn't this possum-cat search the sort of thing hunting dogs love? A varmint to sniff out and chase? Game to retrieve? Free reign to terrorize? But no, Sam eats the evidence, inhales a few spiders, then runs off to swim before the job is done. We still haven't found whatever's living in there. I plan on laying another trap tonight that could actually catch something, but hopefully the possum-cat has escaped by now. Then again, it's not like Sam's a threat, so what's the rush? What an awful hunting dog I've got.
No comments:
Post a Comment