I found an adolescent possum in my kitchen.
. Day .
I stumbled upon an adolescent possum in my kitchen, eating the cat food. She waddled under the cabinet.
I opened the front door and turned out the lights, hoping she’d be brave enough to leave before Buddy came home (though he has no interest in possums, no play value).
Later I shined a light under the cabinet--no possum. Buddy was in, so I locked up and we went to bed.
About 4:30 a.m. Buddy and I were awoken by a clatter, followed by something heavy falling to the floor.
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter, as the ancient rhyme relates.
There was the adorable little critter by the front door. She had knocked a muffin pan off a shelf, climbing over it I guess, and then she got on what I'd call my hall table if I had a hall, but since I don't I call it a hall table anyway. On this table were a bunch of library books atop a slippery New Yorker magazine. She must have climbed up there and tried to turn the door knob, but the pile of books came tumbling down. She was sitting on the books, looking afraid to move.
I don't know why I don't like to touch possums with my bare hands, they're nice creatures. But I just don't. So I gently pushed her out the open door with a book.
Buddy watched all this with mild interest.
possums urban wildlife New Orleans 315 Tricou Street Buddy
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