Demon Clown Baby

When I was in 6th grade, my teacher didn’t teach us how to multiply fractions.

When I got to 7th grade pre-Algebra, that skill was taken for granted. I didn’t know what to do, and the teacher was of no help. Everyone else knew what they were doing, and I was scared to admit I had no clue. When the teacher found out, she was not understanding and made me feel like I was stupid.

In a panic, I asked to be transferred to Math. I got a very nice teacher and was much happier. I took pre-Algebra the next year; this put me a year behind, although as it turned out, with a mere week or two of tutoring I could have been brought up to speed. In college I took three semesters of Calculus and then Linear Algebra, so I wasn’t dumb in math. I just was in it all alone.

Therefore, in my senior year of High School, instead of taking Pre-Calculus, I was taking Trigonometry and Math Analysis, and half the class were Juniors.

The teacher was ridiculous. The younger students sat up front and encouraged his antics, the older ones sat in the back and make snide comments. I usually sat closer to the front, but not this class.

A very large portion of class time would be random stories that had nothing to do with math. We’d hear about his car, a decrepit VW Bus named Klaus, how he had a large pimple on his nose and ran a lot of hot water onto it, how he went to see Sliver expecting to see a lot of Sharon Stone nude, but was disappointed. The younger kids ate it all up, the seniors just suffered in silent rage.

At the end of the year, he asked us to write a letter to him about our experience in the class. I wrote a letter, one draft, handwritten, a real stream-of-consciousness type of thing. It was very cathartic, but when I was done, I decided it was too mean.

It was accurate, though. Everything I complained about, he really did, no exaggeration. In fact the reality was much worse.

Me: Consumer Reports says we should put the baby right in a crib, no bassinets. I measured and we can fit a crib in front of my side of the closet. You could still get to your clothes, but I’d have to put mine somewhere else. That’s the only place we could fit the crib, but it’ll work.

Wife: Okay.

Me: Hopefully we can use a bassinet and it be safe, but if we have to use a crib right away, we can. Only downside is that the space between the crib and the bed will only be 15 inches. But how often do you walk over there?

Wife: Uh, all the time, and even more when the baby’s born. That doesn’t seem like a lot of space.

Me: But you’ll be thin then!

Wife: [lower lip quivering]

Me: Uh-oh.

(Actually, my wife does carry the baby very well. All the other women say so. (And they’re usually not happy about it, actually. If they got big when they were pregnant, they want to make sure everyone else does too. But that’s a subject for another day.)

I’ve got a fish pond, and the raccoons like to comer around and make a mess and try and murder the fish.

Never used to have wild animals, but the BART extension down the Peninsula destroyed their habitat and they moved in on the neighborhoods.

So now we’ve got opossums, raccoons, and skunks on occasion. Only the raccoons bother me, because they are mean, they are tough, they kill and make a mess. ‘Possum’s are just cute. Skunks are cute and should be avoided because of their defensive weapon, but they don’t do anything bad.

Well, I set a trap on Saturday night to catch a raccoon that had been coming around trying to kill my fish. The next morning, I found an orange cat inside the trap. I’d seen him around the neighborhood. He was not pleased. I let him out and he streaked across the yard, stopped, turned around, and said, “What in the world was all that about?!” Sorry, dude.

I didn’t put new food in the trap, but I did reset it. It caught nothing Sunday night and was still set on Monday. I forgot about it.

On Monday night I went to take in the cat food I leave out for the feral cats. It’s inside a doghouse to keep the rain off. As I came near, an animal ran out. It was a skunk. I think skunks are cute but I didn’t stop to admire this one. I skedaddled.

A couple of hours later, I am ready for bed. I open the window to get some fresh air. Why look, the trap has been sprung. And guess who is inside? Why, it’s our friendly neighborhood skunk. Oh joy. Oh delight. Oh rapture.

The only thing worse than having a trapped skunk in the middle of the night would be to leave until daylight. Because then I couldn’t have done what I did.

Which was take a towel and a flashlamp, and shine the light right in the critter’s face. He sees a bright light, and he can’t see anything else. Not being an educated skunk, he has no idea that a flashlight means there’s a person behind it hold it, and that’s to my advantage.

This allows me to get right next to the cage. I am standing about 12 inches away from a trapped, upset, fully scent-gland-endowed wild skunk.

The trap looks kinda like this, by the way:

I drape the towel over the cage. Now he can’t see me. I position the lamp to shine at the cage entrance. Now for the fun part. I open the hatch partway and wedge a stick through the trap to keep it open. Concerned he might rush out, I do this quickly and only get it open part way. I beat a hasty retreat.

He doesn’t leave. Is it not open far enough? I know cats can get through anything their head can get through. I would think skunks might be similar. It should be big enough. Maybe his foot is caught in the wire bottom or side of the trap. Maybe the freaked him out. Maybe he likes it in there.

I go back to the bedroom and give my wife a status update. I had wanted to go to sleep long before now. I can’t sleep with a skunk still in my trap. The old “watched pot never boils” adage in mind, I give it a few more minutes.

He’s still there. I get redressed for battle situation in shoes and gloves, with my trusty anti-skunk lamp.

This time I take out the stick, open the trap all the way, and put it back. Nothing. I move the towel so I can see in the top of the cage. Poor little guy. He’s scared. He can’t see me but he knows something is up. Why doesn’t he spray? Perhaps because he knows he’s trapped, it won’t be a distraction but a provocation from whichever dangerous predator has connived this Polecat Prison.

I grab the rear of the cage and move it a few inches. Let’s not make this a pleasant home for him. C’mon you’re nocturnal anyway! Get out there and forage!

He takes the hint and exits. As he does, I am already retreating into the house, with my all powerful light source providing cover fire.

Success.

Funny thing is, it didn’t smell the slightest bit skunky during the whole ordeal. He didn’t spray, but I didn’t even get the ambient “there’s been a skunk around” whiff.

Which I do get, from time to time: just the day before, I could tell a skunk had been around, by the smell. But when he was actually there, nada.

My mom had a pet skunk when she was a little girl. Descented, of course, and the skunk was as well.

What would I have done if I hadn’t noticed him until the morning? My only choices would be to leave him there all day until it got dark and the flashlight trick worked. (Using a flashlight while the sun is shining is pathetically optimistic, I think.)

Or, to just have a shield of some kind. I think it would be cruel to leave him trapped all day. I’d have used a tarp and risked it.

Glad I didn’t get sprayed. My wife’s sense of smell is already uber-sensitive because of the whole being pregnant thing. I’d have had to sleep in the bathtub or something.