We’re not the best sanctuary in town, but we still get a few knocks on the door.
This is a baby opossum from Florida.
I opened my backdoor and almost fell over her. She appeared to have given up.
Perhaps picking my door after observing how I came and went with all my dogs and cats. Feeding squirrels and birds and raccoons and other opossums by the distant trees.
She was lost from her tribe. Her self-placement, just inches outside my door, instantly snagged my heart.
Not sure what to give her, I took a kibble from the dog bowls in my hand and some water. She just sat there.
My husband arrived later and scooped her into his more confident palms.
That smile, her only scare tactic, seemed more joyous than she instinctively may have intended.
Her only true intention must have been survival, no matter how complicated, or not, her choice to wait by my door may have been.
We kept her over night; she ate a hot dog, cut into little pieces. Her smile seemed more genuine after that.
We found a Florida wildlife rehabilitation specialist the next day. Drove her to the next county and learned there was a list of volunteers just waiting to rescue her, and release her strong into the wild again when she was ready.