Better than fiction

I saw a possum playing possum last night. Literally. Peering out the storm door of my in-laws' kitchen, my five-year was the first to spot the oversize rat lying motionless in the side yard mere feet from my in-laws' two border collies. With the puppy's penchant for "bringing things into the yard", everyone assumed the possum was another trophy.

I seriously considered exiting through a basement door to avoid having any proximity to the thing, as, dead or alive, possums (and wildlife in general) aren't my thing. Being laden with bags and children, though, I stifled a shudder and followed my husband out the kitchen door, jokingly wondering aloud if the possum might be playing possum.

As I eased our truck out the gravel driveway, I glanced over at the side yard where the possum was, by that time, squared off against one of the dogs. In disbelief, I called my husband to share that, sure enough, that possum had been playing possum! The kids and I watched the collie made a halfhearted offensive pounce before I put the truck in gear and rolled on. After receiving a firsthand crime report on a rash of recent burglaries in our neighborhood and watching the 6 o'clock news with my father-in-law, my daughter had been traumatized enough for one day without witnessing a bloody to-the-death animal battle.

What ensued in the next 15 minutes of our 20-minute car ride was more amusing than any Seinfeld script could have aspired to be. We weren't even to the end of the driveway before my daughter launched into a rapid-fire Q&A on all things possum.

Do possums have fur? A lot of fur or a little fur? How big are possums ears? Do they have big eyes, medium eyes or little eyes? (My response necessitated a definition of the words "beady" and "sinister.") Can possums climb? Is a possum's tail like a raccoon's tails?

For sport, she converted our truck into a game show set, casting herself as the host who politely invited me to "tell the audience [my] name and age" before she continued grilling me on the finer points of possum.

When it was her brother's turn to spin the wheel, she lobbed, "What do possums eat?" his way.

"Um," he pondered. "Plants."

"I'm sorry, that is incorrect. You have two more chances."

"Um, meat."

"Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! That's right!"

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Two reasons: One, I'm a smart girl (Note to self: Double-down on efforts to instill humility.) And two, I'm older than you."

Not entirely satisfied with this response, he probed further. "How do you really know?"

Heaving an exasperated sigh, she replied, "Because Mommy told me." (I did? I was going to guess that possums ate garbage since the two I'd seen before last night were both lurking around our trash cans.)

"Mommy told me that they have sharp teeth, and sharp teeth are good for eating meat. Plant eaters have flat teeth, right Mommy?"

I'm pretty sure I learned something along those lines during a 3rd grade science unit on the Mesozoic Era, so I affirmed her logic.

"Or they could be omnivores," she added.

Silence reined for a full minute before the game host, her thirst for knowledge on the possum seemingly quenched, switched gears and started peppering me with questions on the topic of "The Time My Car Broke Down and I Had to Call AAA."

I'm not sure which will entertain her preschool teacher and classmates more today - her recounting of the possum playing possum or of my beige, 1983 Ford Escort station wagon breaking down at a gas station and me calling a tow truck.