Playing possum

There is a possum in my plum tree; I can hear it crashing around whilst scoffing the last of the high plums that we can't get at.

Bastard.

I don't know how long possums live, but it might even be the one that 7 or 8 years ago used to take the aerial route from the bamboo to the Melia tree via the plum tree. On a brightly moonlit winter's night, one could watch it traverse the high road until it reached the Melia, then yank the door open whilst slamming the light switch down and watch it fall out of the tree, hitting every branch on the way down, then racing back up when it hit the ground.

We like that sort of fun around here *shrug*

It wasn't so much fun as a 20 year old, living by myself for the first time in a cottage way out in the boonies, house-sitting for 3 months with a random kamikaze possum sitting at the top of the power pole directly above the gateway. The only gateway. I used to climb over the fence and up the balcony, late at night, if my headlights showed a dark mass lurking on the top rather than risk getting up close and personal with the furry thing. Oh, the owners left me a BB gun to shoot at it with, but the guys from work used up all the pellets shooting at beer cans on the balcony railing, so I put it away thinking it didn't make a large or substantial enough club.

Besides, all that climbing was good exercise.