Possums in Georgia, How Did They Ever Get In?

"I'm dreaming of catching a big ... possum..."

The following is a completely true story. 

Two early evenings ago I poured myself a giant glass of wine, put on a light layer of Chanel lipstick, and prepared to roll out for an evening of fabulous clubbing in Buckhead. 

Okay, everything in the sentence above is untrue, with the exception of "two early evenings ago." I was trying to glamorize things a bit because the real story lacks glamour and ends with roadkill, though not in a bloody, dead animal sort of way. Here's the real, true story. 

Two early evenings ago, I was in my kitchen cooking dinner and folding laundry while pondering the fact that the odor from being within 1 square mile of a gym leaves you with that sweaty-sock stench in your nostrils the remainder of the day.

While pondering this alarming fact, there was a rap at my front door. I wheel around the corner to find my very nice neighbor (from Haiti. Or Africa. Maybe Great Britain. I need to pay more attention, but I know he isn't from Atlanta) standing on my doorstep holding a critter in a cage. 

"Oh, my ... you've caught a possum!" I said. 

"No, no, this is a vole, I've researched it on the internet! It was destroying my garden, so I set out this humane critter trap and I caught a vole! Protect your garden," he said. 

He obviously didn't notice the two dead plants on my front porch.

"I am pretty sure that is a possum," said I. 

"Definitely this is a vole," said he. 

"Dude, I am from Tennessee. Trust me when I say that is in fact a possum -- the bane of every driver on a dark, Southern country road, and really any outdoor space below the Mason Dixon line," I said, with growing authority. Actually I didn't say this. At this point I am just wanting the possum/vole/whirling dervish/armadillo to vanish so my dogs would stop slamming themselves against the front door and barking like two stocky, herding versions of Cujo. 

Lucky for me, Jake pulls into the driveway and says something along the lines of "Oh, my .... you've caught a possum!" The man's timing is impeccable. 

The lesson: don't question people from the South when it comes to vermin. We know our future roadkill, people.

Seriously, look me up next time there's a cicada invasion. I have a story for ya.

{Who gets the reference in the title? Anyone, anyone?}