Part 3.5: The Possum Problem

During my first full walkthrough of Palm Valley Animal Center, it already felt like sensory overload.

Everywhere I looked, there were rows of large dog kennels, each holding five, six, sometimes even seven dogs. Cats were crammed into small cages, two or three per cage, often coming from entirely different towns, now forced to share tiny, overcrowded spaces. And the pit bulls? They had their own section, completely separated, treated like dangerous animals, with warning signs posted as if they were tigers in a zoo.

Then we turned a corner and came across a bank of old cages. These were teal on the outside, white on the inside, with a retro look like they hadn’t been used since the 70s. They were tucked behind the intake area and the euthanasia room.

That’s when I saw it.

Piles of gray fur.

I stepped closer and realized they were possums. Live possums. Stacked in cages, one on top of another. I didn’t even know what I was looking at at first. Possums hadn’t been on my radar at all when I accepted the job.

But Palm Valley was taking in about 6,000 possums every year.

Six. Thousand.

And nearly every one of them was being euthanized.

The Rio Grande Valley is one of the citrus capitals of Texas, and citrus trees attract possums. People viewed them as pests. They’d wander into yards, climb into trash cans, or get trapped, and then they’d be brought to the shelter. And once they were here, there were no options. Just one outcome.

To be honest, I didn’t know much about possums at the time. I grew up in New Jersey. The only time I saw one was when it knocked over my garbage can. I wasn’t a fan. I didn’t understand them. But that started to change, quickly.

We knew we couldn’t keep cramming them into those awful kennels, and we definitely didn’t want to keep euthanizing them. So we got creative. The outdoor cat houses we had built earlier were sitting unused, so we turned them into makeshift possum houses. We added branches, tried to give them a more natural space. It was better, but it wasn’t the answer. It was just a temporary fix.

Before I arrived, the team had found one ranch willing to accept a few possums for release, but that wasn’t even close to enough.

So I opened my laptop and started Googling every wildlife preserve and large landowner I could find in the region. I cold-called everyone I could.

Then I stumbled across the National Butterfly Center in Mission, Texas.

I called and started explaining our situation. I hadn’t even finished the sentence before the director stopped me and said, “Bring them here.”

She was a possum lover, too. She knew way more than I did. In fact, she ended up teaching me a lot. We created a partnership right there on that call. I visited the preserve, saw the land, and within three days, we were bringing our first group of possums out.

From that point on, we were officially in the possum transport business.

While we were transporting dogs and cats to rescues, while we were caring for 1,200 animals across two shelters, we were also driving possums to a place where they could actually live out their lives in peace.

Because every life mattered.

We didn’t want to euthanize any animal that didn’t truly need it. And now, we didn’t have to. That partnership with the Butterfly Center changed everything for our wildlife intake. It gave us hope. It gave those animals a future. And it reminded all of us why this work matters.

Why Possums Matter

Before all of this, I thought possums were just weird, trash-raiding pests. But after saving thousands of them—and doing a lot of research—I became a full-blown possum fan. If you’re still not sure how to feel about them, here are a few facts that might change your mind:

• Possums are North America’s only marsupial, meaning they carry and nurse their young in a pouch, just like kangaroos.

• They can eat up to 5,000 ticks in a season, helping reduce the spread of Lyme disease.

• Their low body temperature makes it extremely unlikely for them to carry rabies.

• They have natural immunity to the venom of rattlesnakes, cottonmouths, and other pit vipers.

• Possums have an incredible memory for food—better than dogs, cats, rats, and even pigs.

• They help clean the environment by eating rotting fruit, dead animals, snails, cockroaches, and even rats.

• When scared, they sometimes “play dead” by going into a comatose-like state that can last hours.

• They’re surprisingly clean animals and groom themselves thoroughly.

• Possums don’t dig up lawns or damage property. They’re usually just blamed for messes made by other animals.

• They’re shy, non-aggressive, and would rather avoid confrontation than fight.

If you didn’t love possums before, maybe now you can at least respect how cool and helpful they really are. I definitely do.

That was then, but what’s happening with the Opossums of Palm Valley Now?

That partnership with the Butterfly Center changed everything for our wildlife intake. It gave us hope. It gave those animals a future. And it reminded all of us why this work matters.

And the best part? It didn’t stop there.

Today, leadership at Palm Valley Animal Society has continued working with the cities across the Rio Grande Valley. They’ve helped shift the perception of opossums, from pests to vital parts of the ecosystem. They’ve educated city leaders and the public on why these animals matter and how they help.

Because of that advocacy, those 6,000 possums are no longer being brought into the shelter at all.

They’re left exactly where they belong, outside in the wild, doing what they were meant to do.

And that’s a win I’ll carry with me forever.

Up Next: Part 4 The Not-So-Butterfly Parts: My First Day at Palm Valley

Before we made a single change or held a staff meeting, I walked every inch of that shelter. What I saw on that first full walkthrough has stayed with me ever since. Some of it was hopeful. But some of it was hard. Really hard.

Trigger Warning:

Part 4 will include graphic and emotional descriptions of shelter conditions and the euthanasia process as it existed at the time. These are painful truths, but they are part of this story—and they matter.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. And if you’re sticking with me, I hope you’ll keep reading. But if you decide to skip Part 4, no worries. The story will continue next week either way.