First night in her new home….
Lulu ripped the leash from M’s hand, retrieved one of our neighbors, and shook him/her thoroughly before dropping the poor shocked creature proudly at M’s feet!
“Oh hell! She has killed a cat!” was all I heard from the office.
M is from just outside New York City, and a bit sheltered.
I am from the south, so “Play dead like a possum,” was often interwoven throughout conversations. I’m still trying to remember the context, but there is probably a good reason I can’t.
“It is not a cat. It is a possum, and it is playing dead,” I said, turning from the door.
“What?! WASH HER NOW,” M said thundering past me.
“Did she roll on the possum?” I said.
“What?! No, but they touched!” M said irritably.
“I believe the possum has to actually bite her,” I said calmly.
Lu and I lost the argument.