Page 71 of My Worst Pucking Enemy

“What about birds’ rights?”

Fair point. Flying cars would probably put a dent in the avian population. Also, I’m glad he’s figured out that it’s not a good idea to whisper here, since he’s a loud whisperer and we don’t need him to inflame the crowd any further.

I just shrug in reply.

After everyone fills out their petitions, except for Paxton and me, Marcellus walks around to collect them.

I support the cause; I just don’t believe in pursuing remedies that are not feasible. I’d rather put my time and effort into solutions that have a chance of being enacted.

Then more ideas are floated about.

Arabella proposes that killing a possum be made a felony, and that anyone who kills a possum, whether by accident or deliberately, should be criminally charged.

Paxton shakes his head in disbelief.

“What?” Marcellus demands. “Come on out and admit it. You hate possums.”

“I don’t hate possums. I just think that some of the ideas are a little far-fetched,” Paxton says.

“You need to hold one of these magnificent creatures in order to truly understand,” Tori pronounces.

Marcellus leaps to his feet. “Good idea. No one can resist a possum.” He hurries over to the box. I walk over with him, and Paxton reluctantly gets up and follows me.

“Uh, there’s really no need,” he says nervously. “I am not anti-possum, I’m just a possum moderate.”

Marcellus lifts the possum up. He cradles it in his arms. It nestles there, looking happy and content.

“May I?” I beg.

He gently deposits it in my arms, and it stares up at me, its beady eyes peering into the depths of my soul.

“Hello, Sally,” I say to it. “You’re beautiful. You deserve to live.”

“She came to the possum rescue sanctuary after being injured by a hunter.” Marcellus shudders dramatically. “An evil human deliberately tried to kill her.”

A murmur of anger rises up around him. I stroke Sally, who seems mesmerized.

“And now, your turn,” Marcellus says, and he takes Sally from me and hands her to Paxton.

The possum takes one look at him and hisses with rage. Paxton, startled, nearly drops her, and she goes limp.

“What have you done to her?” Marcellus cries out.

He quickly takes her back, glaring at Paxton.

“I didn’t do anything to her,” he protests.

“He’s a witch,” someone calls from the crowd.

“She’s fine. For heaven’s sake, you know all about possums. She’s just, literally, playing possum,” I yell back. “He loves all animals. I wouldn’t have encouraged him to hold her if he meant her any harm.”

Marcellus actually fetches a stethoscope from a cupboard and listens to make sure her heart is still beating. As he does that, Paxton and I slowly make our way to the door.

There’s a crystal bowl for donations on the table by the door. I pull out my wallet, toss in a twenty, and then we scamper out and make a run for the front door.

A minute later we’re in the limo, pulling out of the driveway and heading out into the night.

“Sorry about the whole witch thing,” I tell him. “Nobody’s been burned at the stake here for possum-related crimes in... well, I’d have to do some research on that.”

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