I went downstairs last night and heard the baby possum scratching at the screening I had installed to prevent his entry into our home. I looked behind the dryer and saw its pink face and wide eyes at the screened gate. I wanted him to stop. Stop the scratching and stop his obsession with our kitchen. Without any thought of consequence, I grabbed the first thing under the sink. Scrubbing Bubbles. I took it and sprayed it at him. It coated the screening with its foamy clean smell. The scratching ceased.
I went to bed and spent a good deal of the time worrying about how it must have felt for him to get a face full of bathroom cleaner. I worried I had blinded him. Or worse. I thought of what would happen to Bob if someone had done that to him and how miserable it would have made him. I felt like climbing underneath the house right then and seeing if he was okay. The guilt of my actions carried me into sleep. When I awoke this morning, I went right to the other side of the dryer to see if he was still there. He was gone.
I know it sounds a little silly. He's a possum. But I can't help but be concerned for an animal who got a shot in the face with an ammonia product for nothing more than wanting to be in a warm, safe house.