Possum

"Oh no, Gary! Look!" a human voice whispered. "The poor thing is dead right on our welcome mat."

Barnaby stayed perfectly still, even when a giant rubber-soled boot nudged his side. I am a stone, he thought. I am a very ugly, furry stone. . Inside, however, his little heart was actually slowing down, a natural "superpower" that helped him survive the stress of being noticed. Possum

The humans retreated inside to find a shovel, leaving the door slightly ajar. Sensing his moment, Barnaby "resurrected" himself with lightning speed. He didn't wait for the shovel; he grabbed a mouthful of the cat food, scrambled up the nearest trellis with his prehensile tail, and vanished into the canopy of the oak tree. "Oh no, Gary

As he approached the porch, a sudden, blinding light cut through the dark. A Tall One had opened the screen door. Barnaby’s instincts, honed by millions of years of marsupial evolution, kicked in instantly. He didn't run. He didn't hiss. He simply… stopped. I am a stone, he thought

One Tuesday night, Barnaby waddled toward the back porch of the "Tall Ones" (the humans who lived in the brick house). He knew the routine: they often left a ceramic bowl filled with crunchy brown triangles they called "cat food," but which Barnaby considered a five-star delicacy.