Last night, as my wife was opening the back door, I heard a shriek. I thought Deedle-cat might've gotten out, or there was a mouse on the patio gifted to us by Deedle. Instead it turned out to be a full-sized opossum, big as life, only it looked to be dead. It was on its back with its mouth open, the long grill of teeth and gum exposed, eyes unblinking. Of course it turned out to be playing opossum. Steph waited five or ten minutes before he ambled off to go about his business, no worse for the wear than the NBA stars who flop on command and cry, "Foul!".
Apparently not having had enough of the pickings in our yard, he was out there again today and Buddy the dog gathered him up in his mouth and carried him to the middle of the yard where he tried to play with him, only to find the opossum playing opossum again. As a survival strategy it seems effective even if Buddy was overtly suspicious. He kept checking on the "dead" possum, and when it rose from the dead Buddy again went after it. I think Buddy was just thrilled to find a squirrel he could catch.