Well, he has a cousin.
Don’t be impressed with the cute, imploring look. Here’s a side view that betrays his RAT origins:
Seriously, people. I am NOT running a wildlife refuge here. A possum! (I believe the correct term is “opossum,” but does anyone actually say that? Maybe British people?) It comes and goes at will, during the day, from its cozy home under our deck. First, aren’t they supposed to be nocturnal? And second, does anyone have a trap? Or a gun? (Sorry, Aunt Rachel, our family’s Defender of Animals.)
Thea watched me prance around, moaning and saying things like, “Eeeewww! Gross!” She now calls our vermin “Da Poss,” as in, “Mom, Da Poss is cweepy.”
I couldn’t agree more.
The Animal Control people (an interesting lot) assured me I would rather have a possum than a raccoon or a woodchuck. Um, is this a multiple choice test? If so, I choose BUNNY. Or KITTY. Or LADYBUG. They also said I could sprinkle fox urine around the perimeter of the deck. Mmmm. That will smell awesome just as spring breaks! Tulips and fox urine! My favorite springtime aromas!
What do I do, dear readers? Do I wait and hope Da Poss heads to greener decks when the weather warms? Do I trap it (eeewwww)? Do we scare it off with loud singing and harmonica playing?
The Animal Control man said these creatures will play dead (“play possum,” he said with a weighted pause) for hours. HOURS. But just to remind you, Da Poss is very much alive. Here’s an action shot to prove it.