2 am and my mom (she lives my children and I) wakes me saying she’s sorry but she can’t get Chewy (our aptly name chi-Pom mix) to come back in. I go outside to see him with something gray and fluffy and looks like a kitten in his mouth.

I grab a broom and run after him which makes him drop the furry baby and he runs back into the house. As I approach to see if this poor baby kitten is still alive I notice the hair on its tail is all gone. 

It appears to be breathing but is laying there motionless. I grab the dustpan and go to sweep this poor thing when it jumps up, hisses at me and I realize it’s a baby possum. I scream and run, sigh, yes like the stereotypical girl as the possum slowly skeedatals away. 

I’m 40 something years old and finally realized why they call it ‘playing possum.’