They Were Here First

Our first night in a new place, and I have my usual trouble sleeping. While trying to walk it off I look out the back window to see, walking on the back porch, a large possum, sauntering along as if he owned it.

He has the air of a janitor, doing his job, no longer having to think about it, maybe a little bored: "Yeah, I got this."

He strolls past the window, back hunched, thin, rat-like tail relaxed and swinging, fur like ash cotton candy, without a glance in my direction, and makes his way around the corner, out of the pool of light, and out of sight.