Possum Blogging

A few years ago, I left the backdoor open and woke in the middle of the night to crashing sounds from the kitchen. As I came around the corner, I saw what looked like a 30lb possum staring up at me. (I have a 5lb cat, and this was easily a 6-cat possum.) She gave me one of those "Sorry, didn't realize anyone was home" looks, and strolled out the door. Neither of us got hysterical. This scene has been repeated several times since then. I also sleep by a large window — no screen; the cat saw to that long ago — opening onto the front porch, and from time to time I could hear and smell my possum rutting around there as well. (Possums smell like that before they become roadkill.) Then one night last summer, I woke to find my possum eye-to-eye with me, teetering on the window ledge, looking as afraid of her falling as I was. I shone my nightlight directly into her face, and after several high-pitched shrieks on my part, persuaded her to move on. I couldn't help but worry though that our long-held comity might be fading.

This year, I haven't smelled hide nor hair of my sasquatch of a possum. But in her place has been what I guess is v2 beta: small, cute, and cuddly; shy; little if any fear of bigger, potentially predatory, animals like myself. v2 prefers to come in through the computer room, whose screen I knocked out to make it easier to photograph birds. But the birds have been scarce. So you photograph what you have. Here's v2 on my desktop, next to the printer. He's just snarfed an advil and an aspirin left lying on the desk, and he's obviously tripping.