Any big news I might have to post here has already been covered by my fellow bloggers. Gerry covered the season's end for the Cubs, and my brother posted this glorious news. Beyond shameless plugs for other blogs I love, there's really only one piece of blogworthy news left.

The other night, long after the sun had gone down, I was walking to my car to drive to Walmart. I was parked behind my building, near the windows of my single-bedroom subterranean. As I fumbled with my keys, I noticed motion in the shadows of the building behind a few plants. Neighborhood cats often walk past my window, so I assumed the slinking shadow to be feline. I called to the cat in the voice I reserve for animals smaller than a breadbox, but I could tell something was amiss. My eyes adjusted to the dark, and in the ambient orange glow of a street light half a block away, I saw the true beastly form of the creature under my window. A possum. Those of you who read this with any regularity may recall that I had a run-in with a possum last winter. I made a powerful enemy that cold day, not just in an ill-tempered rodent, but in a primal force of nature. The genetic memory of the north American possum is forever ingrained with the knowledge of "tall one, hurler of ice." We recognized each other, there in the night behind my apartment. He knows where I live, and we both know that there won't be any snow on the ground for at least a month or more, thus putting me at a marked disadvantage. This isn't over.