The Possum's Paw

   This morning I went downstairs to let the dogs out, and noticed something sitting on the rug—just a couple of feet from the door. I stepped closer, then immediately recoiled from the pungent odor. Someone left a desiccated foot on my deck! At first I wasn't sure whose foot it was, but upon looking closer at the appearance of the toes and claws, decided it must be from a possum. (This was later confirmed when I found a patch of black, dried skin with telltale-colored hair on it. Taylor had found it first, and rolled on it. Are you shivering from sheer grossness? Good. Me too.)

   The paw reminded me of that short story "The Monkey's Paw" by W.W. Jacobs—so I made sure not to make any wishes on it. It's funny how a surprise event can trigger a distant memory. (There are plenty of useful things I can't seem to remember... but old short stories I read in middle school? No problem.)

"It's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy."

   The moral to the story is "Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it"; in other words, our lives are ruled by fate, and there is a penalty to be paid for trying to overcome it. I'll definitely be careful about what I wish for after this not-so-subtle reminder!

Worrisome Week...

   It has been a long, tiring week. Miss Gypsy has been sick, vomiting every day between the hours of 2 and 4 am, and sometimes while I'm at work, too. I'm very concerned about her, and about keeping her healthy and staving off the kidney disease as long as possible. I've been uneasy ever since I found out she was sick—the very night I had to say good-bye to Atom for the same illness. But overall she has seemed well. She has lost 1/4 of her body weight this year, but otherwise is her perky, friendly, outgoing, bright, talkative self. Her body may be sick, but her spirit is alive and well. Her eyes are bright... And she never takes them off of me. Nearly every moment that I'm home, she's right beside me. And so far, thank goodness, she loves the prescription diet and clamors for more.

   This morning I thought of Atom, and started remembering our final moments together. How extremely sick and weak he looked, but despite that, how loudly and contentedly he purred when I reached in to stroke his face. Remembering that was more than I could take and I burst into tears again. I feel like he was telling me it was okay, and that he was ready to leave. But I worry that he suffered and am devastated that I couldn't do anything to help him.

   I looked over and Gypsy was perched on the toilet, as she does every day, watching me brush my teeth and apply my makeup. She raised her paw and shook it, meowing, like a perfect 招き猫 - maneki neko. It is more than I can take, to imagine losing her... She has been my constant companion for over 14 years. All I can do is hope that her years of beckoning for my attention will beckon some luck to us as well. がんばって、ギップシ！　元気になってください。。。

Tributes to my Lil' Buddy

   Kelly was with me the day I picked out Atom—he's known him as long as I have! He posted this sweet tribute and awesome illustration on his blog:

   I've received some cards from friends this week—thanks to all. I especially love the "angel Atom" that Charlotte drew for me. I have the best friends ever, and I really appreciate your kindness. (That goes for Atom's vet as well.)

   Coincidentally, Thursday's KC Star had a story about the famous old Katz drug store, whose mascot looks a little familiar...

Foreshadowing

   Last night I went out for my run, and over by Strang Park I was stopped in my tracks by an overwhelming, horrible smell. I knew it was the smell of death. I turned to see a very large, very dead possum on the side of the road in a serious state of decay. It instantly reminded me of the demons overtaking the giant boar in Princess Mononoke. I shuddered and kept running, but of course couldn't help thinking of my little possum at home.
   I came home and fed him again, and he seemed okay, though a little quieter than he has been, and he wanted to go right back into his makeshift pouch, the inner pocket of my fleece jacket. When I took him out for his late night feeding, he was even more sluggish but did eat a little. I could see the writing on the wall.
   So I wasn't terribly surprised that my furry lil' mascot didn't make it through the night. I suppose his injuries were just too great. It makes me sad; I knew his paralysis was a huge concern, but he seemed to be rallying, so I had hope. Prey animals are hard to keep because they will hide their pain and injuries at all costs.
   If his story and photos convinced even one person to look at possums as more than a nuisance than he fulfilled an important purpose. I buried him in the side yard under the lilies of the valley, covered his site with azalea blossoms, and will keep fond memories.