Thursday night when I walked out the door, the day’s rain had turned into sleet. I paused in the driveway to listen to it. It was pattering lightly all around, on the cars, the pavement, the trees, and especially in the recycling bin. In fact, it seemed to be rattling things around fairly vigorously in the recycling bin.
I turned around and looked at the bin, and saw some of our recycled cereal boxes shifting around. Definitely not the sleet.
Possum in my recycling, I thought.
I walked over to the bin and turned my little keychain flashlight on it. Sure enough, a patch of gray fur was visible under the cans and boxes.
“Hello?” I said, to let my visitor know I was there.
At once the possum’s little white face emerged. He sat up with his forepaws on the edge of the bin and regarded me warily.
“So you’re what’s been eating the tuna,” I remarked.
The possum hauled himself out of the bin and trundled around the side of the house. For a possum, that’s hurrying.
And all this time I thought it was feral cats scavenging our recycling.