The war with Possum X

Possum X plays to win.

We humans began the war, though inadvertently. A year ago we had a grove of five loquat trees, grown so close together that they formed a dark deep stand, quite ugly from a human point of view but not, it seems, from a possum’s. The trees had also grown so tall they shaded the solar panels.

It seemed reasonable to thin them out, cutting down two trees, leaving three trees and thinning out their tallest branches. This still left a considerable acreage of loquat tree: plenty of room for possum nests, and more new possum leaves and shoots than any family of possums could possibly consume and enough fruit for them, us, the parrots, rosellas, wallabies and whoever else could be persuaded to take them.

It was only, as the first branch was coming down, that I saw the possum nest within its leaves. Luckily it was empty – Possum X was visiting our living room ceiling at the time. He usually overwinters next to the flue of the wood stove, excellent cold weather quarters for a possum.

I don’t know when Possum X discovered that his summer residence had vanished into the chipper. I do know when war was declared.

The avocado tree nearest the house was the first casualty. Every leaf on a tree taller than I am, was eaten in a single night. The tree next to it was defoliated over the next week. The first apricot trees to bloom? Munched, crunched and left bare except for just enough foliage to keep the poor thing alive. Ditto the plum tree and every rose in possum reach.

And the loquats? They have been ignored, human polluted, their new foliage left to grow and shade the solar panels again, their fruit left for us to pick, using the long handled sharp-edged fruit picker, which is unwieldy, and anyway, we didn’t particularly want loquats. We wanted avocadoes, apricots, plums and the primroses, all of which have now vanished down a possum’s digestive system.

The wombats do not appreciate competition for their carrots.

There are many tactics we could use against Possum X. Capture him, and release him elsewhere, which would almost certainly doom him to a lonely and maybe savage death – possums are territorial and this has been his home for over a decade. Possums elsewhere might kill him or at least fight him or he might lose his life trying to get home.

We could put up barriers on each pergola post and tree trunk, so Possum X can’t climb over them. I could spray the rose leaves with the more fiery chili spray with a touch of fish sauce added. (If you try this, test it isn’t too salty or acidic on a few of the leaves before you spray the whole plant, or it may burn the foliage.)

We could use nets, which might injure flying foxes or trap snakes – it takes skill and daring to free a trapped snake and I am not sure I have enough of either. We could shoot jets of water at him when we spot him in the rosebush, eating the last Souvenire de la Malmaison rosebuds.

But we haven’t. And we probably won’t.

Instead, we will wait and hope that Possum X finally forgives us, and that next year he goes back to dwell among the loquats, filling up on loquat leaves and shoots and fruit and blossom, and leaving a few nibbles of the rest of the garden and orchard for snacks … and knowing in the war of 2018 against the humans, Possum X remained the victor.