Intruder (the return)

Like a bad movie sequel, last night our intruder returned and revealed its identity.

In the middle of the night I woke up to the sound of possum noises; that gutteral possum cry and hiss. I thought nothing of it, since I often hear that noise as possums run along our back fence. I lay awake for a few moments, trying to decide if I could hear something or someone moving around inside our house. Ridiculous scenarios sprang into my head. Was I lying, passively awaiting my death at the hands of a serial killer? Should I climb out my bedroom window? Should I wake A? I pictured our huge kitchen knife plunging into me. As these things were running through my mind, an almighty crash confirmed my fears.

A woke beside me and our eyes locked. Mine in fear, his in resignation.

He went out into the kitchen and turned the light on, sighing as he did so.

On the floor lay a knife and an upturned bowl.

And there, sitting on the inside windowsill was our intruder, a possum, its bushy tail hanging down into the sink.

Its "who me?" eyes were wide open as it tried its best to remain completely still. We wondered what to do. It had clearly squeezed its way in through the window of our kitchen, which we had foolishly left very slightly open after last night. It seemed to have forgotten that, unlike in the Beatles' song, it came in through the kitchen window. We waited, hoping it would go back out the window of its own accord. No.

A approached it, his hand wrapped in a kitchen towel for protection. The possum had somehow managed to lock the kitchen window by sitting on the little button which operates the lock mechanism. We got the keys and unlocked the window, and in doing so the poor possum, terrified, squeezed its fat little body out through the tiny gap and into the cold night air.

Now the window is firmly closed.