Amongst learned circles it has long been known that Possums have a great taste for alcohol. They slurp spirits, belch down beer and will whip down wine faster than you can say “Golly-Mr-Possum-are-you-sure-you-need-a-fifth-bottle-of-fine-claret?”.
The great sadness for Peregrine, the Possum protagonist of this tale, was that he didn’t like alcohol and could never join in with the other possums at their possumy parties. At long last his teetotaller ways got the better of him, he was simply sick of being so terribly lonely.
So he reached up with his paws to the top shelf a dusty bottle of Prosecco given to him for his fourth birthday and downed it in a single gulp. “WAZZZOOOOO” he declared with delight and fumbled around in his father’s old liquor cabinet extracting five bottles of fine single malt to continue lubricating the egress of his former sobriety.
Needless to say this story has a most tragic denouement. For while most possums have come to terms with the effect of such heavy imbibing of intoxicating liquids, Peregrine was coming rather late and one mis-pawed swaying step saw him plummet from his tree to his premature possumy passing.
