Every year (or more), a cat moves into our garden. The friendly cats move into our house a week, a month, or a year or two after becoming the garden cat. This winter's cat was Aphrodite. While we tried to integrate her into the house, she has a prediliction and downright fondness for peeing on things instead of in the litter box (unless she's in the utility room, where she will only use the litter box). So, much as I have fallen in love with her, we've accepted she can't be a completely indoor cat, so she is outside on days it is warm enough and inside on days and nights, comfortably ensconsed in the large utility room.
Today was a rather lovely day, so she was still outside on the porch (she has a house out there) when we heard a racket. Upon opening the door, figuring she was climbing the screen to get in, we found her engaged in an enounter with an opossum who had taken up residence in her house. Aphrodite is now in her warm bed in the utility room and the possum is in her house.
Listen, God sent me a chicken one year that roosted on our porch and wanted to come inside. I drew the line there, gave her to a friend who keeps chickens. I absolutely draw the line at possums.
I'm serious. Doesn't matter if it's litter trained, either. It is NOT coming in. Neither is the skunk that's decided to live under one of our sheds. I have boundaries. I do.