We frequently have raccoon and possum (yes, I know the formal spelling as well) sightings on the back porch, secondary to the presence of oh-so-apparently irresistible cat food. I feed them in the morning so that the feeder tends to be empty by evening. Regardless, they still visit. The worst is walking out the door, only to have a furry little face with a toothy snarl four feet away from my bare feet. For months now, as I walk past the back door and glance outside, there appears to be a possum out in the field. Appears to be. It is not. It is a particular tangle of weeds and sticks that, at night in the glow of a sodium vapor light, looks a little like a pale possum. It doesn't always cause me to pause but 50 percent is still too much. So, yesterday, in the pouring rain I decided to rearrange the "possum." One kick did it. No teeth. No growling. Just a bit of final March Madness out in the sticks of Tennessee.