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I have returned to the Guy Home. There is a chill in the air, Mr Guy has been puttering, the cats have been planting their fat carcasses on me, and there are possums walking on the cabana.

Back at the old place, our little house got so hot in the fall that I had to study outside. One night, after studying by candlelight for several hours, I realized I was surrounded by a family of possums, quietly creeping through the trumpet vine on the fence. They ate my only squash, those bums, but I've always had a soft spot for them and their drunken lumbering gait.

One night I opened the back door and frightened a possum, who fell out of the tree and landed at my feet. We both screamed and I closed the door.