Opie accompanied me to work every day. I had a dream job. A little office in the country, where I showed up in the morning to see the workers off . . . and spent the rest of the day alone, waiting for the phone to ring. (It seldom did. I felt like the Maytag repairman.) I had lots of time to entertain Opie. (And watch her sleep).
I captured June-bugs and grasshoppers for her discriminating palate. She'd hold them - a wing in each little hand. (Possums have opposable thumbs, so they can grab things a lot like a human would.) Then she'd chomp the body. I had to turn my head - I felt sorry for the bugs. We went for long walks at dusk. When she was ready to call in a day, she'd climb up my leg. We became quite close.
I didn't realize what a problem that would be. When it came time to release her - she refused to leave. I took her out in the woods near a little creek, thinking it would be the ideal place for a possum to live. Putting her on the ground, I turned to run. Only to feel her catch a hold on my jeans and climb up. (They can move pretty fast when they want to.) I could have outsmarted her and gotten away. But she was so completely imprinted. With that kind of attachment to me, could she make it on her own? I wasn't willing to gamble with her life. I'd know the next time, to keep my association with wildlife a little less personal.
So she became a permanent resident. The cats hissed at her (biggest rat they'd ever seen) and the dog wasn't comfortable in her company. Used her for a fire hydrant once. So I took her most places with me. She slept under my jacket clinging to my shoulder. One day, standing in line at the hardware store, Opie got a little too comfortable. In a deep sleep, she released her grip on my clothing and fell from under my jacket.
Plop!
Right at the feet of the little blue haired old lady standing behind me. Opie looked around, stunned. (Looking a lot like a dazed, long-haired rat.) The lady screamed. I thought she was going to faint. I scooped Opie up, put my intended purchases down, and made a hasty exit. Hoping there was another hardware store in town I could patronize in the future.
Thus began my life-long love affair with opossums. Opie was the first in a long line. I've learned to be careful to not imprint them. Until . . . Soupy came along. I think HE imprinted ME.
But more about him later. There've been many foster-possums in my life who need their fifteen minutes of fame, first. Like the three babes delivered to me by a well-meaning neighbor. I was getting ready to make a trip to Houston and there was no room at the Inn (rehab center). So, I made a trip to Houston with three baby possums in a bird cage. And an extra carrying case full of dried possum-mother's milk, eyedroppers, rags and cleaning supplies. Please don't ask me who milks the mother possums. I've wondered that myself.
What most people don't realize about opossums is - they're nearly defenseless. They'll hiss and show their teeth. (Fifty of them. More than any other mammal. Making them look really fierce.) If that doesn't work, they run. If all else fails, they play dead. That's it! They have no other fiendish plans up their sleeves. It makes them quite helpless against their many natural enemies.
Possums are one of the least likely of all wildlife to carry the rabies virus. Of course, I'd never suggest picking up a wild possum. In fear, it may bite. But it won't jump on you. So please don't launch an attack on such a helpless creature. If one is in your space, be calm. Get someone to help you herd it into its space. It'll be as glad to go as you are to see it go.
I accidentally reached out and touched a wild possum once. But that's another story . . . for another day.
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