I fronted up at the address bright and early on a Saturday morning. It was my first call of the day. Actually, the only one I had scheduled. I rang the bell and waited and eventually the door opened and this young lady was standing there.
Definitely what I'd call a nice young lady. She was in her early twenties and looked as though she'd just scrambled out of bed. Her hair was tousled and she had no make-up on, not that she needed it. She was dressed in what looked like silk pyjamas but could have been a silk lounging outfit for all that I know about women's fashion. I did know that it was silk and that any movement she made caused the material to cling to her. It especially seemed to cling to her breasts.
"Yes?" she said.
"Mrs Asters?" I asked. "I'm Peter from Pete's Pest Control. I was asked to come and see if I could do something about a possum in your roof."
"Did you have to come this early?" she asked grumpily.
"Your husband did ask me to come first thing this morning," I gently pointed out.
"Asshole," she grumbled. "Him, not you. He damn well knew I'd have to get up to answer the door. He's out playing golf."
She looked at, looked at my truck, and then looked at the possum cage I was holding.
"What's that supposed to be?" she asked.
"It's a possum trap," I told her. "I'll bait it and put it in your ceiling and leave it overnight. I'll check in the morning and you'll probably find the possum safely locked up and I can move him to a place where he can go and play with other possums."
"Not with that cage, you won't," she said, sounding rather smug.
"Why not?" I politely asked.
"See that man over there?"
I turned and looked and there was a man walking what looked like a German Shepherd on the other side of the road.
"Yes," I acknowledged.
"Well, that dog is about the same size as the blasted possum in our roof."
"They sound a lot bigger than they actually are," I explained. "It'll be a ring-tail and they're really quite small."
"It sounds as though there's a horse galloping around up there," she said sweetly, "and unless it's suffering from giganticus it's not a ring-tail. Or it could be a were-possum, because it's very large and very hairy. Personally, I'd go with large brush-tail possum."
A ring-tail is small and weighs around a kilogram. A brush-tail is a lot bigger and weighs in at two to three kilograms.
"I'll go and get the larger trap," I told Mrs Asters and she smiled.
"Good idea," she said.
I fetched the larger trap and Mrs Asters escorted me through to the laundry where there was a manhole to access the ceiling. Before I fetched my ladder I explained exactly what I was going to do. She seemed genuinely interested. I was genuinely disconcerted because she kept moving around, doing a lot of talking with her hands. Every time she waved her arms around her breasts would wobble and I could see them wobbling under that thin silk. Like I said, disconcerting.
I went up the ladder and looked around. I promptly saw a pair of beady eyes looking at me from a corner. It was a brush-tail, alright, and a big one. I manoeuvred the cage as close as I dared, hearing it quietly snarling as I did so. Then I backed away with more haste than grace.
"No worries, sweetheart," I said to Mrs Asters, coming down the ladder. "He's up there and he'll investigate the cage as soon as he gets hungry."
"Are you trying to flirt with me?" she asked, sounding slightly suspicious.
Eh? Flirt? I was twice her age. Why would she thing I was trying to flirt? Oh, of course, the sweetheart bit.
"No, no, sorry, darling," I said quickly before my brain caught up to my mouth. I mean, they're just common endearments, not meant to be taken seriously, but I tend to forget about how politically correct some people can get.
