Barnaby stayed perfectly still, even when a giant rubber-soled boot nudged his side. I am a stone, he thought. I am a very ugly, furry stone. . Inside, however, his little heart was actually slowing down, a natural "superpower" that helped him survive the stress of being noticed.
His legs went stiff. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. He even managed to look a bit dusty, as if he’d been lying there since the mid-nineties. Possum
As he approached the porch, a sudden, blinding light cut through the dark. A Tall One had opened the screen door. Barnaby’s instincts, honed by millions of years of marsupial evolution, kicked in instantly. He didn't run. He didn't hiss. He simply… stopped. Barnaby stayed perfectly still, even when a giant
One Tuesday night, Barnaby waddled toward the back porch of the "Tall Ones" (the humans who lived in the brick house). He knew the routine: they often left a ceramic bowl filled with crunchy brown triangles they called "cat food," but which Barnaby considered a five-star delicacy. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth
"Oh no, Gary! Look!" a human voice whispered. "The poor thing is dead right on our welcome mat."