*“We have a signal!” I yell up the stairs, expecting my sister to be still lying on the couch. “The people need their cardigans, son,” he jokes with his hands on his hips, a proud gleam in his eyes. We begin our trek to the trap, I go in first while Georgie slowly saunters behind. My dad is a master at tricking possums; the trap lies embedded amongst a cluster of bushes. *Georgie swings the rifle back behind her shoulder blades and picks up the possums by the scruffs of their necks.