Dead possum on my doorstep.
No, that's not the name of my new indi-rock band. I'm house-sitting for a friend and I came home the other night and there was a possum dying on the doorstep. I nearly stepped on it and it completely freaked me out. It looks like a rat but is the size of a house cat, for those of you who haven't seen one up close. I normally think they are cute but this one was dying right in front of me and cute wasn't the word that came to mind. More like horrifying. I managed to jump over it and get into the house. Other Eric suggested, "Hey, don't possums play dead?" "YES!," I said. "That's it; it got scared and is just playing dead!" (Happy thoughts, happy thoughts; it will be gone in the morning.)
Now, I knew it wasn't really acting like it was dead. Keanu Reeves isn't this bad an actor. The poor thing was wheezing and it's breath was so labored it wasn't fooling anyone. So I knew it wasn't going to be gone in the morning; it was going to be dead and attracting flies and I'd have to figure out what to do with it. I got up in the morning, got a shovel out of the garage, somehow managed to get it into the trash can without having a nervous breakdown, and got the trash out to the curb before the garbage truck came. I'm so glad it's over but it was a little traumatic!
That's the last dead body I'm disposing of. And I mean it this time!