What an ugly little creature, he thought, opening the cage door and reaching in and taking hold of Frank’s loose hide and lifting him out. Frank awoke, hissed, and bit the air and flailed with his feet.
“Quit now,” Raymond said. “Or you can just stay in your cage. You wanna go to the golf course? Huh?”
Frank hissed and peed.
“Vile bastard!” Frank screamed. “You little jerk!”
Frank craned his head and bit Raymond on his thumb.
“AWWWW!” Raymond screamed, dropping Frank to the floor. Raymond plunged his bleeding thumb into his mouth, then thought of Frank chewing crickets and eating cows’ entrails, so he simply encased the bleeding thumb inside his opposite hand. He reared back and kicked Frank from the floor into the opposite wall; a dozen pictures and broken glass covered the lifeless possum. Raymond hoped Frank was dead but only for a split second. Sick with fear, Raymond rushed to Frank. Raymond picked up the possum, limp, tongue dangling. I’ve killed him, Raymond thought. I ruin everything. But then Raymond noticed the gentle almost imperceptible rising and falling of Frank’s chest. Raymond whispered in Frank’s right ear: “I know you’re alive. Quit faking.”
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