Possums are a fact of life at our house. Our deck is their playground. Unattended cat-food or compost is serve-yourself style. We have definitely had a love-hate relationship with them. But as grand kids and their friends have come along they are viewed more kindly here. Their entertainment value outweighs the negatives. And, no matter how many of them get hit by cars, there seems to be an unrelenting stream of replacements willing to hike up the tree alongside the deck and jump over to explore. They are fairly willing to be photographed but reluctant to look me in the eye, or phone as the case may be. I am glad we have them, they are worth the annoyance, although my husband doesn't necessarily agree.
One of the ladies I knew who lived in the senior apartments I managed, had three pet possums when she was a young girl in Tennessee. She named them Ennie, Meenie, and Minie and kept them in her dresser drawer. She raised them until they could fend for themselves then released them near a creek in the woods.
This morning a raccoon was on the deck but they are fast movers. I probably won't ever get a good picture of one of them. Oh well, I will just learn to appreciate the opossum in its slow- moving, beady- eyed glory.