I am the shadow that slips across your yard at night, the bent figure rifling through a trash can, the shy, wide-eyed creature you sometimes call ugly or filthy. I am the possum — and believe it or not, I do far more for you than you might imagine.
I am not fierce. My teeth are for crunching beetles, ticks, and the scraps you leave behind. I am gentle and easily frightened. When danger arrives, I do not fight — I go limp, my body still and my breath shallow. You call it “playing possum.” It may seem strange or even funny, but it’s not a game; it’s how I survive.
I am your quiet helper. Each season I eat thousands of ticks — the same parasites that can carry Lyme disease and threaten your children and pets. I gobble slugs and snails that damage gardens, clear away rotting fruit, and consume dead animals that might otherwise spread sickness. Without me, those problems quietly get worse.
Still, I am often misunderstood. I am not a rat — I’m America’s only marsupial, carrying my babies in a pouch like a tiny kangaroo. My young cling to my back as I trudge a fence line at dusk, their little faces peeking out from my fur. I am a mother, sometimes with a dozen mouths to feed, and I keep working through the night so they can survive.
Yet too many of us die for no reason at all. Cars strike us on dark roads, dogs chase us, traps catch us, and hands raise sticks. We are frightened and confused; our young are left clinging to lifeless bodies with no one to help. It pains me that so many of my kind perish simply because we look different or move slowly.
Fear is powerful, and I don’t blame you entirely — my pointed snout and unblinking eyes can be unsettling. But if you look past the surface, you’ll see a scavenger doing an important job, not a menace. Let me be, and you’ll notice fewer ticks on your pets, fewer rotting carcasses by the roadside, and healthier gardens around your home.
So please, see me differently. Think of me as a marsupial mother, a quiet night worker, a partner in keeping your neighborhood healthy. Give me a safe path under your porch, a patch of dark to move through, and the chance to raise my young in peace.
Teach your children not to fear me but to respect me. Protect the wild corners of your neighborhood. For every small kindness you show, I repay you in ways you might never notice — until I am gone.
I am the possum. I am mocked and misunderstood, yet essential. I am asking you, from the hush of night: let me live, and your world will be a little kinder and a little safer.