Just playing.

I was still groggy from bed, but I have to admit it wasn't very early. The Virginia opossum must have been making a late morning of it. I had just started drinking coffee when I took the dogs out. Ivy was loose and Bear was leashed. It took me a second to realize that the large, gray fur ball Ivy found in the woods was not a cat, and then it took me a second too late to realize that getting close enough to grab Ivy meant Bear was close enough to grab the possum. Fortunately his grip was weak and when he tried to shift it, I was able to drag him back inside. After a few barks of tough talk, Ivy was happy to follow. We left the body slumped in the driveway.


The possum, while far less picturesque than the jumping mouse, looked just as convincingly dead. I grabbed my camera and returned without the dogs. “Don't mind the paparazzi,” I murmured as I snapped pictures from several angles. It twitched its lips a couple times to bare sharp teeth, suggesting that it had a few other defenses in case I didn't leave the poor corpse alone.


Possums seem to me like beasts that have lumbered out of the Mesozoic era, or at least The Princess Bride. Primitive traits, like primitive special effects, aren't always a hindrance. Possums make up for what they lack in agility and brain size by excelling at appearing unappetizing.


We all watched the heap of possum through a window. After a few minutes, it blinked, then raised its head to look around. The entire body rose from the dead and it beat a surprisingly hasty retreat to the depths of the wood shed beside the house. I marveled at its cunning, however innate.


After all, I long ago accepted that if my survival required me to be strong, fast, and above all quick-witted, I probably wouldn't still be here.