Elmo in the Doghouse

By Maria Miller

It had been a tense evening.  The oldest family cat, a big orange-and-white male named Elmo, was on death row.  At least twice recently there had been chickens killed in the coop during the night, but the miscreant hadn’t taken away the bodies or eaten them, so we were mystified regarding the intentions of the killer.  As the chickens weren’t eaten, it was deduced that a smaller animal was responsible, since a larger animal would have consumed at least part of the carcasses.  Dad decided it was Elmo gone bad, since he had been seen lurking in the near vicinity of the chicken coop lately, and had been maintaining a rather guilty air.  None of the other family animals were exhibiting the same suspicious characteristics.  These points combined to place Elmo in a “suspect” category.

Killing for pleasure was not allowed in our family.  A short (but merciful) execution was scheduled immediately for any animal who whopped up on any other animal to kill it.  With over one hundred animals to account for and take care of (counting all the ducks, chickens, pigeons and geese as well as the dogs, cats, horses, sheep and parrots), strict but peaceful order was maintained throughout our household.  It seemed Elmo’s days were numbered.

That night, during a family conclave, we kids pled for a stay of execution – we argued that Elmo’s guilt was still unproven, guilty behavior and suspicious whereabouts notwithstanding.  It seemed completely bizarre that he would suddenly snap and attack chickens – creatures in which he had never before shown the slightest interest.  Mom threw her vote in with us.  Dad, still unconvinced and longing to avenge the deaths of his innocent chickens, agreed at last to give Elmo another chance – basically he would have to be caught in the act.  As usual, all the cats and dogs were put outside for the night.  We kids went to bed somewhat gloomily, Elmo’s alleged crime and the intended punishment hanging over our heads. 

A brisk wind picked up, making the mango trees rustle and clouds scud quickly through the dark sky.  While the rest of the family drifted off to sleep, Dad lay awake in bed listening for the sound he was sure would come – the sudden squawk and jabber from chickens under attack by a vicious, sadistic cat.  For a while, all was quiet.  Then, just as he began to drift to sleep – it came!  Chickens squawking loudly in distress and terror in the chicken coop!

Dad, fierce and righteous anger filling his heart, threw back the covers and leapt to his feet, charging out of the house and down the path to the chicken coop clad only in white cotton briefs.  Fearless in his anger, Dad threw open the door to the chicken coop and grabbed the furry beast attacking the chickens.  Holding him aloft with one hand, Dad spanked him as hard as he could with the other, yelling, “Bad cat! NO! Bad cat!”

 Mom, by now having made it out to the front porch to witness the chicken-killer caught in the act, watched as Dad suddenly became aware of a malodorous scent in his nearby vicinity.  Holding up the creature in his fist to get a closer look, he found himself staring back at a large, extremely startled and well-spanked possum.

“It’s a possum!” Dad shouted through the windy night.  “What should I do with it?” 

“I don’t know!” Mom replied, somewhat irritatedly.  “Why don’t you just throw it away?”

The next morning at breakfast we kids were regaled with the tale of how Dad caught “Elmo” and gave him a good spanking.  We laughed hysterically and felt relieved that Elmo was out of the doghouse, so to speak.  Even Elmo looked relieved.

Dad made sure all possible gaps in the chicken coop were wired closed, but never again did we have any problems with possums attacking chickens in the night.  We figured that having experienced one of Dad’s spankings, no possum would be dumb enough to come back for more!