LITTLE LAW FIRM ON THE BAYOU: The Critter Custody Chronicles - Part FOUR

by Tina Seymour Demoran Esquire, Seymour Law Firm PLLC

What About the Turtles, Raccoons and What the Heck, Let’s Throw in Possums

Well.

Apparently, after discussing dog custody, puppy paternity, and then wandering into the complicated legal affairs of cats, I have opened a door that cannot be closed.

People now have questions about turtles.

And raccoons.

So at this point, what the heck.

Let’s throw in possums.

Welcome to another episode of Things I Did Not Specifically Study for on the Mississippi Bar Exam.

First, the turtles.

Now, turtles are near and dear to my heart because apparently my house has become some sort of reptilian assisted-living facility.

We have had turtles wandering through the yard.

Turtles requiring rescue.

Turtles showing up near the patio.

And, most notably, my favorite, Shelly — who apparently decided that being rescued from landscaping equipment entitled her to certain ongoing benefits, including turkey sandwiches and strawberries.

She has literally walked up to the back door looking for snacks.

At that point, I’m not entirely sure whether I own Shelly, Shelly owns me, or we have accidentally created a month-to-month tenancy.

And as an attorney who handles evictions, I am absolutely not serving that turtle with a notice.

She knows where I live.

Then we have raccoons.

Raccoons present an entirely different legal problem because raccoons look like tiny masked criminals and conduct themselves accordingly.

They are adorable.

They have little hands.

They wash their food.

And given approximately seventeen unattended seconds, they will steal the cat food, rearrange your patio furniture, and stare directly into your security camera like they are daring you to prove probable cause.

If a raccoon gets into your trash every night, is that adverse possession?

No.

But give him ten years, a lawyer, and a sufficiently creative reading of Mississippi law, and apparently anything is possible.

And then there are possums.

Possums are the creatures everybody thinks are terrifying until you realize they are basically exhausted Southern mothers.

They come out at night.

They look perpetually overwhelmed.

They eat whatever is available.

They would prefer not to fight anybody.

And when confronted with unnecessary drama, they simply fall over and refuse to participate.

Frankly, I respect the strategy.

That is not “playing possum.”

That is setting boundaries.

So, legally speaking, what happens when one of these creatures takes up residence at your house?

Probably nothing resembling custody.

Wild animals generally belong to the State, not to whichever human has started naming them, feeding them, photographing them, and discussing their personality traits on Facebook.

Which is unfortunate because around my house, apparently naming wildlife is practically part of the closing process.

But before anybody gets any ideas:

Please do not bring me a raccoon and ask me to establish visitation.

Please do not ask me to prepare a Last Will and Testament for your turtle.

Please do not ask Mary Catherine to file for emergency custody of a possum.

And for the love of all things holy, if two neighborhood turtles produce offspring, DO NOT CALL ME ABOUT TURTLE PATERNITY.

I have already litigated puppy paternity once this summer.

There are limits.

Probably.

Although, knowing my life, I fully expect to walk into Justice Court next week and hear:

“Your Honor, my client denies being the biological father of these 14 baby box turtles.”

And I’ll be sitting there with a legal pad thinking: