The Ponderosa Pine Tub Possum

The Ponderosa Pine Tub Possum

by Darklady

I was 21.

I had nothing but glitter, a cheap apartment, and a full commitment to disco.

By day, I was a meter maid — dodging curses from drivers and collecting coins like some cursed witch of city finance.

By night, I was a goddess in heels, dancing my way through heartbreak and hangovers.

My apartment was up a flight of outdoor stairs. One way in, one way out. Right outside my door sat my pride and joy:

a little potted Ponderosa pine, a bit of green majick in my gray world.

And then...

one morning, I opened the door — and came face-to-face with The Possum.

He wasn’t small.

He wasn’t cute.

He was the size of a toddler with mange, standing full-bellied and bold — right between me and the stairs. His fur was grey and greasy, his eyes gleamed like wet obsidian, and his teeth were fully bared, unprompted.

He looked up at me.

Hissed.

Showed me a mouthful of sharp, jagged little knives.

And stood his ground like I owed him rent.

I blinked.

He hissed louder.

I tried stepping outside — he lunged forward an inch like,

“Don’t test me, witch.”

I backed up into my doorway and shut the door, whispering,

“What the actual hell…”

I wasn’t scared.

I was confused.

This wasn’t a normal possum encounter.

This was an ambush.

A possum blockade.

A silent declaration of war.

I tried again five minutes later — same reaction. Hissing, growling, and the distinct look of

“I will destroy you and your little pine tree too.”

That’s when I realized:

I was trapped in my own home by a pissed-off possum.

I picked up the phone, called in to work, and said the words that would cement my status as a local legend forever:

“Hi, yeah. I can’t come in today.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a possum outside my door.”

“...what?”

“It’s hissing at me and blocking my stairs.”

“Ma’am, are you serious?”

“Dead serious. And if I try to pass it, I might be dead too.”

They were not amused.

But I didn’t care. Because deep down… I was starting to understand something:

This wasn’t an accident.

This wasn’t just a wild animal.

This was a spirit test.

I stayed inside that day.

Watched through the window as that possum eventually vanished into the shadows, like a guardian who had completed their task.

Did he know something I didn’t?

Was there a drunk driver waiting at the stop sign I never crossed?

Was I meant to avoid a parking ticket disaster of cosmic proportions?

Or was that the first time the spirits showed up in fur and fang to guide my path?

Closing Word from the Possum-Held Prisoner

I never saw him again.

But I’ve never forgotten him.

Sometimes the universe sends signs.

Sometimes it sends warnings.

And sometimes… it sends a greasy, angry possum guarding a potted pine like the gates of the Underworld.

That was the first time I obeyed an omen.

And it wouldn’t be the last.

Darklady

Witch of the Pines, Survivor of the Hiss