i own a pair of possum socks. maybe a scarf & hat too. they're knitted as opposed to welts of skin & fur. in new zealand where i come from possums are reviled rather than loved as they mercilessly consume the soft tendrils of native plants & decimate our native forests which haven't evolved in a way to protect themselves form anything other than foraging birds or the odd lizard. we turn them into clothes [which feel good]. some maoris & some hunters use them for food. possum & puha pie.
but i love possums with a passion i have for all animals i suppose. some more than others probably. my sister & i actually grew up with one as kids. an orphan, the product of human vengeance wreaked upon the innocent creatures they in turn unfairly introduced.
our childhood friend would run up along with us as we played fly & leap up from behind us onto our legs then our backs to perch on our shoulders or head with tell tale track marks clawed in irrevocable patterns into our skin. we didn't mind.
this one i found walking on the back streets of darlinghurst, peering wistfully out into the alley from someone's city backyard. i immediately shot it. with a camera.