From Grrr to Grover — A Tale of Two Possums

Grrr and Grover came to us at about the same time in September of 1994.

Their time of arrival at our center was the only thing they had in common. We received a call from an area veterinarian who had taken in a young opossum that someone had found and brought into her clinic. There were no apparent injuries on this youngster, according to the vet, but he was just too young to be away from his mom. His body was about ten inches long, a definite juvenile.

We release juvenile opossums when they are ten to twelve inches long (excluding tail length), so we assumed that this youngster just needed a few days of good food and the companionship of other opossums prior to being released in a suitable habitat. Margo Havlik, a new staffer, volunteered to pick up this little "opie" from the veterinarian on her way home from work, house him overnight, then bring him to our center the next morning when she came to work. Margo had dealt with several possums here, so we were confident she could handle this "juvie." She left with her gloves and a carrier so she was completely prepared, she thought. Margo successfully accomplished her mission and called me when she got home with the possum.

"Cindy, this guy is a little butt," she told me. "I had problems transferring him to the carrier."

I knew that older juveniles could be pretty aggressive, so I told Margo to wear protective gloves when she put food and water in his carrier. She assured me that she would, as the youngster had growled and lunged at her every time he sensed her presence."Just be careful," I told her, "and get him here safe and sound tomorrow morning." She assured me she would.

The next morning rolled around all too quickly, as it usually does. Margo arrived early with "Grrr," as she called him. When I got to the medical center, Margo informed me that she had put "Grrr" in with seven other just-weaned babies in the "possum condo." I expressed concern that this aggressive juvenile was much too large to be in with our kids. Margo assured me that this was not the case and pointed to Grrr in the condo. As she pointed him out, this four-inch-long possum bared his teeth, growled (hence the name Grrr) and jumped at Margo’s pointing finger. Grrr was, in fact, smaller than our other kids, but I knew he could hold his own. We were obviously misinformed about his size but speculated that because he was such an aggressive little critter, the veterinarian who called us saw him as much larger than he really was. I know I did the first morning I had to clean his cage!

Our possum condo consists of two levels of wire caging; a downstairs with logs and branches leads to the upper level. This allows the babies to learn some climbing skills before being put in the large outdoor "possum hotel." To clean the condo, it is generally easier to remove everything—bedding, habitat, food and water dishes and possums. This was my plan that day. I removed all the inanimate objects first, then the possums, one at a time. Picking them up by their tails is the safest way, so I gingerly removed our seven original, groggy possums and temporarily relocated them. They were a breeze. I didn’t use my gloves as they are too thick to securely grasp the young possums’ tails.

Everything went smoothly until I got to Grrr. Ungloved, I tried to grasp his tail, at which point he made repeated lunges and evil noises at my bare hands. He had made it perfectly clear that he was having nothing to do with me or my foolish plans. I had to get him out. His sleeping area was filthy, and I had to prove my superiority to three new staff members! I knew bare hands wouldn’t cut it and neither would my gloves, as the little fool could slip right through them. In desperation I grabbed a large sheet, quadruply folded, and tossed it over this little monster. I grasped Grrr and the sheet and temporarily relocated them both. I knew I had impressed our new staff members with my ingenuity, but I was worried about my next step: how to get him out of that sheet and into his clean condo.

Grrr went to sleep that morning, swathed in a huge folded sheet that would have covered his enclosure and three more to boot. What the heck, I kept all my fingers, our new staff members remained impressed by my abilities at handling vicious wild animals, and Grrr was very content. At this point I decided that our staff members needed the experience of Grrr; consequently, I haven’t cleaned the possum condo since! Grrr reminded me of a tough young hood who, despite his bravado, still needed his mother. He was orphaned much too young, but with his tenacity, he would do just fine.

Grover came to us from the California Department of Fish and Game as a result of a major sting operation involving the trade of illegal reptiles. Although not a reptile, there was old Grover peacefully napping as our Fish and Game officers confiscated more than 700 illegally captured snakes, lizards and whatevers. The reptiles went somewhere, and we got Grover. Volunteers Stan and Cheryll Brown accepted custody of him, on our behalf, from Fish and Game officials; he is listed as "evidence" on the receipt. If all the wildlife we dealt with came right from the wild—either ill, injured or orphaned—our job would be so much easier. But nooooo, every few months we take in something that was supposed to be wild but became someone’s "pet" instead. These always throw us for a loop. In some cases, if the animal hasn’t become too confused, it can be rehabilitated and released. Old Grover was not one of those cases.

Possums don’t have very long life spans, and it was hard to tell Grover’s age, but we suspected he was less than a year old. He was more or less full grown but not yet having the enormous bulk that we see in older male possums. We set him up in the medical center and gave him all the comforts of home. He used a litter box meticulously and loved to snuggle deep inside a blanket or comforter.

We were very tentative in our first dealings with Grover, as we had never dealt with a "pet possum" before. We’d reach over to scratch him and be greeted by the old open-mouth possum threat. Though dealing with wild possums is scary, Grover’s threat quickly turned into a yawn. He’d close his eyes and wait for a stimulating "butt noogie" or a relaxing behind-the-ear scratch. Grover was definitely too far gone for rehabilitation. He also had stitches that needed to be removed as he had recently been castrated. That really nixed his chances for rehabilitation.

Staff and volunteers loved Grover—he was a pleasant, easygoing kind of a guy who would take grapes from our fingers. He slept most of the day and ate and used his litter box in the evening. Possums are nocturnal so we didn’t get to see Grover’s evening activities. Did he have little solitary parties and cavort all by himself? Did he ever think of the life he had or the one he could have had before humans interfered? I can’t answer these questions, and Grover probably doesn’t even ask them. Possums are generally solitary and nomadic except during their breeding season, yet they have the freedom of choice when they are in the wild. Grover lost all of his freedoms of choice when irresponsible humans came into the picture. We did the best we could for him and made his altered life as pleasant as possible.

So distinctly different were Grrr and Grover. Grrr will know the pleasures and thrills of living in the wild world—romping through the avocado trees, chasing bugs and rodents, munching on overripe avocados and chasing those lovely lady possums when he becomes of age. Grover will have a nice enclosure, a little human companionship if he wants it, and some possum pals if he’s the amiable sort. I can’t help but think that somewhere in Grover’s possum brain, he longs for the "other life." Instead, he’s just listed as evidence in some police book somewhere and will spend his life in capativity, while Grrr will live to tell his grandpossums about the times he scared the pants off about a dozen human beings who were about a thousand times his size.