I wonder if the world wants a book called "The Poor Little Opossum," about a wet opossum frantically searching for snacks in a cat bowl on a patio in the rain on New Year's Eve.
I can't think of how it should end, though. Maybe a human sees it, puts out cat food, which is then eaten by a raccoon, and then the poor little opossum befriends a nun who offers vegetables from her garden.
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