I let a possum win.
Last Sunday I buckled down to do laundry, after all I needed my favorite jeans. I carried a basket of colors through my leafy courtyard to the tiny laundry room at the back of the Spanish-style building where I live. Luckily, my neighbor who owns a hair salon wasn't washing 25 towels and salon cover-ups that night - the laundry gods were on my side!
Thirty minutes later, I slipped on my Converse, grabbed keys and walked down the stairwell to switch my clothes to the dryer.
And then I saw him.
I heard a rustle in the courtyard and saw a massive thing, some kind of rodent scurry across the pathway toward the back of the building, long rubbery tail fluttering.
Oh shit. What was thaaat? Summoning my courage, I proceeded toward the back since I knew I could make it to the laundry room so long as I didn't spot my new friend again.
But he wasn't ready to say goodbye.
At the back of the building, just as I was about to hang right for the laundry room, I looked over and saw this furry creature - it was a possum! - climbing a small tree with orange flowers about six feet away. The possum froze as he gazed over, staring at me with big, beady black eyes. I figured he was mad since I disrupted his peace, but then I spotted the vulnerability in his eyes. He started to drool out of fear, clenching that branch even tighter.
I don't know who was more scared, him or me?
I stood there for what seemed like eternity, staring at this guy and trying to muster the courage to walk past the tree where he clung for dear life. "Don't be ridiculous," I reassured myself. But my fear only intensified as I pictured the possum leaping from his branch and wrapping his claw-feet around me. Irrational thoughts, I knew, though ... I just couldn't do it.
I walked back to my apartment, defeated. And laughing. Yeah, I let that terrified possum win.
