Possum!

Ummm... I'm sitting in the Carolina Room, surfing Craigs List, looking for a used-but-in-great-shape set of patio furniture, and right now -- RIGHT NOW -- there is one baby possum snuffling around in the cedar chips lining the planting bed outside one of my windows.

He just came strolling across the courtyard from god knows where, beady eyes shining in the light from the room, hairless, pale tail almost glow-in-the-dark, his little pointed nose headed straight for a place to root for... what? What do possums eat? Bugs? Grubs? The foundation of my house? I have no idea.

If I open the door, will he hiss at me? Leap at my throat from some dark corner? Hypnotize me and make me stare into his insane, violent little face?

Do possums have opposable thumbs? I'm locking the door right now. He doesn't have the key, and seeing as how he's only about 9 inches long, I don't think he can reach the handle, anyway, unless he leaps. God, that would be scary -- a possum leaping right at the door, plastering his little marsupial body against the glass, scratching to get in. Night of the Living Possum.

Can he be rabid? Maybe he'd make a good pet. But then I might end up with a possum posse (is the plural of possum possi?) looking for their missing comrade.

My back yard is full of wildlife friends. Lizard friends, squirrel friends, bird friends and now baby possum friend.