Moving day.

I don't get hunters. I don't see how someone—for fun (or as they call it, sport)—can go out in the woods,  see a defenseless animal grazing or just walking and put a bullet through its head. I don't want to be friends with people like that because I think they could just as easily do it to a person. Today I have to have a possum removed from under my house, maybe a whole family of them. Possums are the ugliest, most antisocial nocturnal creatures. They are absolutely repulsive. But I couldn't kill a possum What right do I have to take away it's only shot at existence?  I don't. I don't want it under my house, but I wouldn't kill it to remove it. Besides his or her babies don't think their parent is repulsive. The person removing it has absolutely assured me that he will take it to a distant wooded area and set it—or them—free.  I have to accept this as true, unless I go with him, which I may. I wish we could talk to animals. I'd tell this possum, "Look if you promise to stay of sight, not bother my cats, and not eat my electrical and cable cords, and do your business somewhere else, you can stay here. I'll even feed you, providing you don't invite all your relatives over." Unfortunately that's not possible, so today is moving day for this really ugly possum, though he or she doesn't know it.

Note: Over a week later. I turns out the possum was not ugly and mean like this one, but far cute and much more sedate. I caught him during the night and he spent most of the morning sitting or pacing in his trap. He never once hissed or acted panicky, but seemed to be waiting patiently for the Orkin man to come and take him away. I thought I'd feel relieved, but I felt really sad and, frankly, missed him when he was gone.