After I moved back from LA, we were confronted with the tedious and monstrous task of reclaiming our garage which my dear family had used in my absence as a free dump & furniture warehouse.  Unbeknownst to us, a family of possums had also taken up residence amid the wreckage and unfortunately for all of us, had also died there.  After digging a hole and disposing of two shriveled little bodies, we thought the coast was clear. So after enlisting my mom to help me schlep around some furniture, it was a little disconcerting to hear the scrunch of a possum’s mummified skull beneath my foot. Besides how utterly unsettling and downright nasty this was and overlooking the fact that I can still feel its little cranium cracking beneath my feet, it was rather a comedic moment. I nearly dropped the headboard I was carrying and I think my mom is still chortling, years later, over the squeal of disgust which escaped my lips. And no worries animal lovers; it had been dead for quite some time prior to me stepping on its head.

A few days later, while attempting to find a leaf rake, Edgar discovered yet another mammal causality.  Fortunately, the possum had had the good sense to die on a blanket and though I’m the last one to throw anything away without using up the very marrow of the thing, I had to toss the dead possum blanket. No matter how many times it’s washed, there’s something about cozyin’ up in a quilt which a small mammal expired and indeed decayed on, which is downright unpleasant.

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