Ever seen an opossum run at night? It’s about as entertaining as being an eyewitness to a likkered up moonshiner, buck dancing on the back of a moving ‘bacca trailer. They certainly wouldn’t win the Arthur Murray salsa competition over at the VFW spring fling. However, they might eat the leftover nachos if placed in a garbage bag on the service porch. Being almost blind and half deaf, they don’t navigate well under the cover of darkness or, well, anytime.

They resemble a matted Wobble Wag Giggle Ball with sharp teeth and a personality only a hyena can appreciate. I truly believe, if pitted against “Hercules”, the Mastiff in the movie, ”The Sand Lot”, the opossum would win the fight. Heaven forbid you corner one in a crawl space. That sucker will be in no mood to negotiate a peace treaty. Either he dies, or you do. If you emerge victorious, be sure to reassess your blessings ‘cause you just cashed one in.

Some people think opossums are cute, furry, and have a toothy smile only a mother could love. Their skinny, hairless tails would garner them no favors in the Junior League beauty contest but it’s quite handy for hanging from tree limbs, an appendage most five-year-olds would love to have. As a marsupial, its precious how they harbor their little dumplins’ in a pouch, much like a toddler would guard a bag full of Toy Story dolls.

In reality, opossums are mean as the devil himself. They’ve been known to eat cats, which I suppose is not a bad thing. They also eat ticks. When threatened, they have a personality which falls somewhere between a feral hog on meth and a pre-schooler who’s been told he must eat the fruit cup side instead of fries. Just dreadful. If you’ve ever been witness to an opossum feigning death, it’s a hoot to watch but a memory you’ll soon want to forget. My mama always said, “nuthin’ good ever happens after midnight”. Being a nocturnal opportunist, after midnight is when these creatures excel. Trash cans beware and, for Heaven’s sakes, lock your doggie door lest you must call 911 to eradicate an unwanted intruder.

All in all, I guess we can coexist, one with the other. Like two competing board spinners advertising furniture stores on the brink of bankruptcy, I’ll stay on my street corner and he, on his.  I’ll be more mindful not to leave table scraps on the service porch. I’ve grown weary of retrieving morsels of spoiled chicken, decaying vegetables, and other unmentionable toiletry products from my bushes. And to you, ol’ possum, please do not squat in my crawlspace anymore as there is no vacancy for vermin such as yourself. Carry on my wayward scavenger of the night and stop loafing on the highway. As ugly as you are on the outside, your innards are equally as displeasing.