On Thursday night I get a call from my husband at midnight while he’s out supposed to be walking the dogs. “Honey, do you want a baby opossum?”

“Are you insane?” I asked. “No, I don’t want a baby opossum! Where are you?”

“Out walking with the dogs. Another dog out here caught an opossum. When the dog shook her, a ton of babies came flying off and they’re scattered all over the ground. Can you hear them squawking?” my husband asked. “I thought you’d like to have a baby opossum. Can you hear that sound? That’s them. It’d be real easy to pick one up.”

“No, no opossum. We just placed my son’s cats this morning [my son moved from a pet to no-pet living situation and we ended up with his two cats]. We’re trying to keep from expanding our pet population. Leave them there!” I practically shouted into the phone.

Thankfully he came home sans opossum on Thursday. On Friday my husband took our dogs for their nightly walk and I sat around debating whether to sweat on the couch, the bed, or the tile floor for the rest of the evening since our AC quit earlier in the day. Around one a.m. I got a phone call from my husband.

“Are you sure you don’t want a baby opossum? The dogs found one of the babies and are carrying it around. The momma’s gone and I don’t see any more babies. It probably got left behind.”

“I can’t believe you’re calling me and asking me this! No opossum. No.” I paused. “Are you sure the momma’s gone? No blood, no babies, no growling?”

“It was under a pile of rotting leaves. It’s kinda wet from being in the dog’s mouth when she brought it to me, but it’s not hurt. It’s shivering. I’m sure it’s abandoned – I looked around and I don’t hear anything else – babies or otherwise. Are you sure you don’t want it? Okay. I’m going to leave it here. I’m sure something will eat it with all the racket its making.”

“Opossum are natural enemies of birds. I’ve got breeding birds – remember? Why would I want an opossum? You’re insane. YOU want a baby opossum, don’t you?” I wasn’t going to be responsible for this bout of animal insanity.

“Mom raised baby opossum when she lived on the farm. They’re cool. That’s okay, I thought you would want it, but I’m going to leave it here. We don’t need any more animals. I’m sure one of the neighborhood cats will eat it.”

“Bring it home,” I told him. I hung up the phone and tried to ignore that sick feeling in my stomach. About a half an hour later he comes waltzing in the door with the baby opossum in his dog walking bag (cookies, flashlight, etc). I wrap a towel around my hand and reach in to pull it out. I wrap it in the towel so the light doesn’t hurt it. I peak under the edge of the towel only to see giant fleas and lice crawling around on its cute wee head. After informing my husband of the little creature’s INFESTED status we both began searching for the lice shampoo. After an unhappy scrub (on her part) we finally put the little one in a cozy warm terrarium I use occasionally to raise mealworms in. We looked at each other and both started itching. Just the thought of lice and fleas made me itch and we weren’t taking any chances. We threw our clothes in the washing machine with a healthy dose of lice shampoo then jumped in the shower.

Continued here Part 2