I was away from the Berkeley cottage for seven days a couple of weeks ago, and it appears there was a change in tenancy during my absence. Relocation is appropriate at this time of year in a college town.

The skunks are no longer apparent. Now I have a family of opossum. They were particularly present on Monday, June 20, right after my return. I heard yard sounds that morning that were heavier than birds and slower than squirrels. I looked outside and saw the white-faced low-slung marsupial, tail extended and butt poochy, ambling across the deck. A few minutes later I saw another. They seemed healthy but disoriented, out too late on a warm dawn, leading each other first to one end of my office and then near the gate, past the water heater closet, back again.

Then I saw the young’n! About a quarter the size of the adults, cuter but not cute enough to my eyes, hunting in that Mr. Magoo manner for its folks. I didn’t consider then how tiny it must have been at birth, or how unlikely it was to be an only child.

A minute later one of the adults walked into my cottage. Uh oh. We both knew it was a mistake, but any attempt I’d make to herd the animal was sure to drive him or her further into the room and into confusion. Oh well: better than a skunk and easier than a bird. I opened the second door so the exit was six feet wide, retreated to my office, and waited for the animal to waddle out.

I haven’t seen the skunks since my return. I think they have either sublet their den to the marsupials or been evicted by them.

And I think the opossums were having offspring issues that day. Maybe it was something about the slow child, the one who wouldn’t leave. I haven’t seen as much or many of them since.

(My recent splashes into opossum research have awakened an awareness about the pouch. Next time you find a dead possum you’re supposed to check for one. It it’s wiggling, there are babies within, and they’ll die unless you act. Wear gloves.)