Mr. Possum Has a Close Call

Mr. Possum Has a Close Call


There are eight million possum stories in the Naked City. This is one of them.

Call me an irresponsible person. I rarely fold up the handles of my trash can so the top is locked on securely.

I’m usually lucky. My trash is undisturbed.

No so one night a few weeks ago, after I took out a load of especially delicious smelly garbage..

When I got up, some critter—I figured a dog, but I was wrong—had knocked over my can and papers and plastic were scattered everywhere.

I picked them up and took the can to the curb for emptying. It was garbage day. Tuesday.

When I came home from work Wednesday evening, I retrieved the top of the trash can from the ivy bed (the garbage man had once again missed my glass globe; he likes to take it out), stuck it on top of the can, and dragged the can around to the side of my house.

Some time after dark I went outside to get something from my little pickup truck; on the way back in, I thought to myself, “You know, there’s nothing in the can, but I should make sure the lid is on top, because something really liked the garbage that was in it.” And so I pull the handles up around the lid, locking securely in its place.

On Sunday, I took the trash out.

Sunday

That’s Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. And the highs had been in the high 80s.

I took off the lid and there, in the bottom of the can, was the most bedraggled, miserable-looking opossum I had ever seen—and possums always manage to look miserable. It’s fur was greasy and wet-looking, and it looked up at me with a “okay, eat me now!” look in its eyes.

OMG! The poor thing had been there for five days in the heat! It had to be on its last legs!

I did what I thought would be best for Mr. Possum (no babies clinging to its fur, so probably Mr.). I tipped the can over and went back inside.

I came back out 30 minutes later and there was the possum, still cowering inside the garbage can. It hadn’t moved an inch.

Possums aren’t the brightest of animals, and I knew that. I raised the bottom of the can and rolled it gently until Mr. Possum slid out and he made his way with great possum dignity across my yard and into the kudzu and ivy that will one day strangle my absentee landlord neighbor’s firstborn.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how thirsty and how hungry and how hot and how cold that poor thing must have been all the while it was trapped in that garbage can. And I somehow knew if I had taken one day longer, I would have found an expired possum in that can.

Mr. Possum, wherever you are, the best to you. And I won’t be locking the tops of my garbage can any more. Promise.