When I was a pre-driving-age teen, I’m out wandering around the neighborhood, I hear my mother screaming in the distance for me, and “there’s a rat in the house!” I think it was Dad’s bowling night or something, and she knew I was around.
We had cats, and she used to keep the garage door up about a foot so they could come and go. Well, a juvenile possum had come in the basement level garage, up the stairs, thru the edge of the kitchen and dining room, and into a large utility room next to the dining room. That was the “rat”.
I end up getting gloves and a rake and encouraging the possum into a big canvas bag that he did NOT want to go in. Did I mention that up close, possums have about 4 billion sharp pointy teeth?
Anyway, I got him into the bag and carried him away from the houses, dropped the bag, went about 50 yards away for a bit, then retrieved my bag.
And we laughed about the “rat” for a long time!