About

I'm Mike Pope. I live in the Seattle area. I've been a technical writer and editor for over 30 years. I'm interested in software, language, music, movies, books, motorcycles, travel, and ... well, lots of stuff.

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Outside of a dog, a book is probably man's best friend; inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.

— Groucho Marx



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Blog Statistics

Dates
First entry - 6/27/2003
Most recent entry - 9/21/2018

Totals
Posts - 2522
Comments - 2582
Hits - 2,081,216

Averages
Entries/day - 0.45
Comments/entry - 1.02
Hits/day - 374

Updated every 30 minutes. Last: 8:07 PM Pacific


  01:51 AM

Many and varied are the denizens of my suburban property, but one of our most interesting nocturnal visitors is a possum that seems to like it here. I'm sure my ill-tended compost heap has something to do with it, either providing yummy table scraps, or attracting fauna that in turn makes a meal for Mr. or Ms. Possum.

My own animals have an odd relationship with the possum. Henry couldn't care less; he snoozes on the bed at night. Lucy, brave huntress, is the one who lets me know that the possum is on the grounds. She barks at the possum -- barking at 1:00 AM is the sure sign -- and when I poke my head out the back door to try to get her to shut up, she prances around, presumably wriggling with pride that she's spotted the intruder. Lucy doesn't ever seem to get very close to the possum, or at least, I don't think she intends to harm it. The cats are either indifferent or mildly curious; Sophie got close enough to the possum to sniff at it a bit. The possum itself does not seem overly perturbed. For example, it doesn't do the famed playing possum bit and act dead or anything. It just sits there and blinks and sometimes wiggles its ears.



I usually have to haul Lucy inside and shut the doggy door, else she'll keep loping off into the yard to bark at the possum some more. In the mornings, the possum is always gone. I have no idea where it keeps itself when the sun is out. Perhaps in my woodpile?

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