The other evening I opened a door and found an opossum pulling trash out of a plastic trashbag on my outdoor deck. This had happened several times before, so I yelled in annoyance while it ran to the edge and tried to hide. I grabbed a baseball bat and pushed it off the deck, onto the ground (a 9-foot drop). An hour later it was back, scattering trash again.
This time I had my wife hold up the torn trashbag while I slipped a new trashbag over it, tied it shut, pitched it downstairs and locked it in the garage where critters couldn't reach it. Problem solved.
Later on I asked myself: why didn't I shoot the opossum? I live in the country, I could certainly hit it, and no one would know. Even if they did know, no one would care. So why didn't I eliminate the source of the problem?
Because I respect life. Because the opossum was an annoyance, but not a hazard. Because without the trashbag, the opossum wouldn't be there.
But sometimes the solution isn't so easy, or so nice.
Several years before, we had a troop of outdoor cats. One day a new cat appeared at feeding time. It was larger than the others, looked mangy and sick, and did its best to chase the others away from the feeder. The next few days it became apparent that this new cat had no intention of getting along with our cats, or eating its fill and going elsewhere. Day and night the fights continued. Something had to be done.
So, I walked out towards the cat, aimed a 22 revolver, and fired 1 shot; the cat was dead.
As I slid it into a paper grocery bag, I noticed the many cuts in its ears and several small worms crawling around its anus. This cat had had a hard life. I'm sure it started life as a cute, fuzzy kitten, but its life ended as a parasite-ridden pest.
I was sad that it had to be done, but I didn't regret it. I still don't. I respected its life, but I respected the lives and well-beings of my own cats even more. That's my duty as a cat owner.
So if using deadly force to defend yourself or others from human attackers is just too difficult for you to figure out, remember the opossum and the cat.
This time I had my wife hold up the torn trashbag while I slipped a new trashbag over it, tied it shut, pitched it downstairs and locked it in the garage where critters couldn't reach it. Problem solved.
Later on I asked myself: why didn't I shoot the opossum? I live in the country, I could certainly hit it, and no one would know. Even if they did know, no one would care. So why didn't I eliminate the source of the problem?
Because I respect life. Because the opossum was an annoyance, but not a hazard. Because without the trashbag, the opossum wouldn't be there.
But sometimes the solution isn't so easy, or so nice.
Several years before, we had a troop of outdoor cats. One day a new cat appeared at feeding time. It was larger than the others, looked mangy and sick, and did its best to chase the others away from the feeder. The next few days it became apparent that this new cat had no intention of getting along with our cats, or eating its fill and going elsewhere. Day and night the fights continued. Something had to be done.
So, I walked out towards the cat, aimed a 22 revolver, and fired 1 shot; the cat was dead.
As I slid it into a paper grocery bag, I noticed the many cuts in its ears and several small worms crawling around its anus. This cat had had a hard life. I'm sure it started life as a cute, fuzzy kitten, but its life ended as a parasite-ridden pest.
I was sad that it had to be done, but I didn't regret it. I still don't. I respected its life, but I respected the lives and well-beings of my own cats even more. That's my duty as a cat owner.
So if using deadly force to defend yourself or others from human attackers is just too difficult for you to figure out, remember the opossum and the cat.
