Mr. Hot Grinch - Lindsey Hart Page 0,27

seen them before. Me and Dad.”

Well, bloody hell. I guess I know when I’ve been played. Shade knew all along it wasn’t a cat. I think. Or maybe it just dawned on him right this moment.

“Yeah. I think you’re right. It’s a possum.” I’ve never seen one before, so I don’t know anything about them. But I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to be loitering around in anyone’s backyard. The animal looks confused and scared as he stares at us. His pointy nose twitches, and his whiskers vibrate like it’s trying to sense whether we mean it harm or not.

If it does get scared and think we’re going to do something, will it spring at us? Attack us? Do they have sharp teeth? Can they jump off their tails? Are they dangerous? Why is it out in the middle of the day? I’m pretty sure that’s not a good sign.

“We don’t have possums,” Shade says patiently. “We have opossums. They’re different.”

“Okay, Mr. Internet. Thanks a lot. If you know there’s a difference, how come you thought it was a cat?”

“Because I knew if I told you there was an opossum back here, you’d freak, and you wouldn’t help me. He looks bad. Maybe there’s something wrong with him.”

The opossum backs up until its bottom hits the fence. Then, it hisses again. Violently. God, it’s actually kind of cute, and it doesn’t look that bad. Shaggy, yes, but not skin and bones. It’s well filled out. I think it’s just scared. And maybe they’re supposed to look like that—a little bit mangy.

“I think he’s fine. He seems lively enough. He probably just climbed into the yard and can’t figure out how to get out.”

“We could help him out. Show him the way.”

“No! Don’t get close! It could…it could bite you or something. It’s a wild animal, and it’s scared. We shouldn’t touch it.”

“What are we going to do then?”

“I…I don’t know. I’ll call someone. A wildlife rescue or something because it needs to be relocated somewhere safe. This is the middle of the city. This is so not cool.”

“I think it’s pretty cool.” Well, yeah, he would. He’s freaking four.

“Come back into the house with me so I can get my phone.”

“No, I’ll wait here. You go get it.”

I’m ready to argue, but I figure it will be faster to just run and get the dang phone than to try and reason with a four-year-old. Kids always win. They’ll bring out the B-bomb. The Because-bomb. Or the W-bomb, which is the whole Why-bomb. You try reasoning with that. It’s impossible.

I dash across the grass and nearly miss a step on the deck and kill myself. I’m more careful when walking back. I’m not even halfway there—since I’m trying to look up wildlife groups—when Shade starts yelling and crying. He runs up to me and takes my hand. His cheeks are stained with tears.

“It died! You said it wouldn’t die!”

“What?” I yelp. “No! No, that’s not possible.” I drop Shade’s hand and run over to the animal. Yup. It’s fucking dead. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Shade’s behind me. Of course he is. He’s trying to see the poor thing, so I quickly thrust my phone into his hands and spin him around so he can’t look at the animal. Maybe it was so scared that it had a heart attack or something.

How could this happen? It was fine. It was hissing and spitting and acting just like it probably should when it’s scared and cornered, and then bam! I leave for under a minute, and it up and fucking dies. Why does the whole entire world fucking hate me so fucking much?

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!

I realize I’m getting hysterical, and I really have to calm down. I have to look for a shovel. No. NO! I refuse to let this happen. This thing is not going to die. I’m going to revive it. I’ve seen a few videos on the internet of people giving animals CPR. I can do that, can’t I?

Fuck it. I’m doing it even it means giving it mouth to mouth.

I drop down to my knees and grab the creature. It’s curiously shaped and, oddly enough, still warm. It’s not stiff, but then I guess there hasn’t been enough time for rigor mortis. God, why do I even know that term? I turn it onto its back and tilt the head up. Which side is the heart on? I stick my fingers across the chest in what I think is the approximate