I hate possums. It's their looks!. The long snout, narrow eyes, coarse fur, hairless long tail, clawy feet and the worst combination of colors white and gray and pink. I also think they are very stupid, and I have very low tolerance for stupid creatures. They come out at night, and they just love to cross the street at night times when visibility is poor. What for? The other side of the street is the same like this side of the street. Tress and shrubs and houses. And they get run over by cars when crossing. In the morning, when I walk Beau down the street, I would see the gruesome sight of their smashed body, except there is now more red than pink. And they have this expression on their faces that says, "It all happened too fast!" because most of their eyes would still be open and their mouth half open, leaving me to see their crooked teeth. They look even uglier!
This morning I saw a gray lump in the middle of the road, and told myself, "not another possum!" As I walked up more, I saw this possum was different from the others. This on was still alive!! He was still moving!! He must have been hurt because only his head was bobbing up and down, in a frantic attempt to escape the coming cars. His face spelled horror. His two short front feet were moving a little, but they seemed too weak to propel his body forward. He looked at me. I looked at him. At that moment, I felt sympathy for him, and wondered what happened to my disgust for his kind. I stood there for a while. Several cars sped down and they swirled around to avoid smashing him. I imagined his fear. What do I do? What COULD I do!
I continued with my morning walk, trying to decide if I want to take the same road back because I wasn't sure I could manage to avert my eyes so I didn't have to see his dead body. I figured an hour was more than it would take for some car to hit him. Would I feel guilty? I would be the last one to see him alive.
To my surprise, I didn't see him! I looked up and down the road, using several landmarks to assure myself I was looking at the right spot. Indeed he was not there. And there was no sign of recent accident. Beau was sniffing the nearby grass. I looked around me, and didn't see any trail of life, or death. He had evaporated! Poofed! Gone!
After a few minutes of disbelief, mixed with doubt and boy-was-he-lucky, I walked on, thanking God for his protection for all creatures, big and small, beautiful and ugly.
For that brief moment of exchanging eye contact, I felt that young possum was my friend.
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