The Opossum & Her Babies

It was early fall. The days were chilly, and the rains cold. For Mother 'Possum who had come from the warm, sunny South, it must have seemed as cold as the North Pole would to us. We tucked a lot of cotton wool into her box, thinking she would use it for a blanket, but Mother 'Possum had never heard of such a thing. She kicked it as far as she could. The babies were cold and Mother 'Possum was shaking with it. Two hotwater bags, filled with piping hot water were fastened on the outside of the cigar box home. Soon Mother 'Possum and the babies relaxed, stretched their slender legs, buried their noses and went to sleep. The bags had to be kept on the outside of the box for fear Mother 'Possum or the babies might burn themselves.

This meant that the bags soon grew cool, so we had to change the water eight or ten times a day, and often had to make a trip to the Museum at night to refill them. At night, we gave extra warmth by half burying the box in warm sand, with their cigar box door shut up. Mother 'Possum drank lots of milk, ate more banana than one could believe possible, and relished fat grasshoppers. The cool weather had made the hoppers sluggish so it was easy to keep a supply on hand. We tried her on nearly every kind of fruit and vegetable but without success. She didn't like us any too well, and opened her mouth and hissed at us just as a snake would do.

She could bite, too, and her very white and very sharp teeth drew blood again and again when we reached in the box to borrow a baby to pet. One day we tried to take a picture of the family group. No sooner was Mother 'Possum out of the box than she hustled all the babies upon her back. Little mouths biting into her soft fur, paws clutching, tails wound tightly about her larger one, they were a picture, but before we had a chance to snap it, Mother 'Possum with her load of babies jumped courageously from the high table on which we had placed her, and raced for a hiding place.

All around were shelves bearing bottles, cans of paint, pieces of glass, all sizes of iron bars and piping, and everything necessary in the job. The floor beneath the shelves was full, while alongside stood great barrels of plaster and cement and sand. Into this wealth of objects dashed Mother 'Possum. We never expected to get her back. An electric light on the end of a long cable finally located her clinging to a piece of pipe, the babies hanging on securely. The light blinded her and w e n able to throw a handkerchief over her head, after that we were able to pick her up and shove her, protesting it is true, into her cigar-box house.

By: davidbunch

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