Possum Kids

Scurry Possum headed into the top "apartment" of the cat condo, obviously intent on pooping. I picked her up, nearly giving her a heart attack, and put her in the possum litter box. She jumped out and ran for the door. A little later, Curry or Hurry wnet into the apartment and did NOT poop, so I gave her some cat treats. She ate out of my hand! So I petted her; that was too much. She ducked away. So far, the possums have hissed, shown their teeth (but not used them), ducked, dodged and ru. None has yet played possum.

Last night I saw Flurry Possum leaving the cat litter box, having properly used it. I praised her and went to get some treats to reward her. Came back to find her squatting on the plywood floor (We were in the shed, aka Grammy Cave), with urine issuing from behind. I yelled. Note to self: yelling does not abate the issuance of possum urine. To Flurry's credit, she then clmbed into the top apartment of the cat condo, sat in the window and comtemplated my sister's painting of Hannah praying for a son. Who knew possums were art connoisseurs? Or biblical scholars?

Too Many Critters

There are four possum youngsters in the shed  (aka Grammy Cave) tonight. I'm writing this at 3 a.m. -- because who can sleep with four possums in the place? For one thing, I have to lie awake and wonder whether there were four all along, and I just didn't notice it because only two came in at a time. And are they even Edgarina's offspring? Maybe they simply heard through the PNC -- Possum News Channel -- that this was a good place to get a meal and a nap.

Jut to be on the safe side, I named them -- Curry and Hurry. Curry climbed onto the cat condo. Scurry already had the top platform, so Curry went to the highest "apartment." Flurry was already in there, and  sibling or not, she was not about to share her quarters, even though there was plenty of room. Flurry therefore encouraged the newcomer to leave -- quickly. So Curry settled down on a lower platform, and began to wash herself, as Scurry ws doing on the top level.

Meanwhile, Hurry ate as quickly as she could. I scared her half to death by going over nd refilling the food and water dishes.She dodged to one side and made motions like she was about to take refuge under the built-in worktable, but she hurriedly returned to eating when I stepped away. They all are probably fattening up for a long winter's nap. Soemtimes I wonder whether they have chosen my Grammy Cave for their winter den.

As each possum moved to a different place, I reminded them, "Use the litter box." They unanimously ran through it and hid in various corners of the room.

H and C must be newcomers beause the cats quickly reached the limit of their tolerance. Even Goldsmith  is whining and growling a cat challenge, and he loves everybody. The possums may be scared, but they aren't about to give up the free eats. There has been some scurrying and interspecies hissing, but the possum children have settled down to eat in twos, which I suppose gives them some feeling of security. And it worked because Goldsmith has given up his challenge and resettled on my office chair next to the recliner I sleep in. Nervous BB has left his spot atop a box and is cowering next to me in the recliner.

Interestingly enough, I've been reading a Sam Campbell book. Campbell was a naturalist who lived most of the year in an animal sanctuary in the north woods until his death in 1962. He and hi wife, Giny, rescued, raised and released many orphaned animals, from tiny red squirrels to bears.He wrote about their adventures and troubles with the wild creatures, and in the deepest recesses of my heart, I have always wanted to be Sam Campbell, so I welcome the wild ones.

I just hope I don't have to clean up possum poop when daylight comes.

Growing

Scurry Possum was in the shed last night, and I was awake from 2:00, so I fed her treats. She was hesitant at first. She would not take them from my hand; I had to put them down on the platform of the cat condo, where she was washing herself. But when she got a good sniff, she attacked them. Sooner or later, she will warm up to me.

She's growing into her ears. They no longer look so huge on her head.

I choose to sleep out in the shed because it's cooler than the house. And I like being surrounded by the cats and possums.

Scurry As a Baby

Scurry, one of Edgarina's surviving babies, likes to sit on the top platform of the cat condo and wash herself. I never knew possums washed themselves like cats. Maybe that's why the two species seem to get along -- at least in my shed. I used to pet her, but it only terrorized her.She has grown some since this photo was taken. The background painting was done by my sister, Lois Bailey Houston.

Best Friends at the Hofgarten in Dusseldorf.

These two stayed close to each other the whole afternoon. I wish I knew their story.

The Monster and the Fleas

The Monster and the FleasI shut the shed door so the cats couldn't escape after breakfast. Then I hunted them down one by one and squeezed a couple of drops of flea treatment on each. Their general attitude toward this procedure is: They're MY fleas! Leave them alone!

 Bright struggled, Angel ran but went still when I grabbed his head, and Goldsmith sat fatalistically awaiting the inevitable. BB, however, squirmed and squalled as though I were torturing him.

Edgarina Possum was shut in, too, observing eveything with eyes as big as a possum's beady little orbs can get. When I opened the door for the cats to run outside, Edgarina made tracks, too. Then she went into her den under the shed and told her kids that I'm a monster. She must have because now as soon as Scurry and Flurry catch sight of me, they flee for their lives.

God and the Tsunami

It was a beautiful, sunny Boxing Day (the day after Christmas) morning in tropical Sri Lanka. Kohila Sanders was in the kitchen, mixing powdered milk for her three-year-old daughter when one of the orphan girls burst in, gesturing excitedly toward the beach.

“The sea!” she cried. “The sea is coming!” Kohila did not understand what the child was yelling about, but it sounded serious. She ran outside to look toward the sea, and her heart stood still. A giant, ash-colored wave was building, growing higher by the moment as the water piled up. Kohila ran to the bedroom where her husband Dayalan lay awake. He was thinking about the sermon he was to give that morning, but all thoughts of the sermon vanished when he saw the terror on his wife’s face. She echoed the girl’s warning.

“Come! Look! The sea is coming in!”

“Keep calm,” Dayalan soothed, “God is with us, and no harm will come to us unless it is our time.” But he had never seen his wife so frightened. What could possibly be that bad? He decided to check it out, but he was in no hurry.

Dayalan was a member of the Tamil ethnic minority in Sri Lanka. He was a United States citizen, living in Maryland with his parents and sisters, when he felt the call to be a missionary, so he and Kohila had come to this spot on a peninsula of Sri Lanka. With their life’s savings, they purchased a four-acre piece of land with the sea on one side and a lagoon on the other and built an orphanage which now housed 28 children of various ages. The villagers all called him Father Sanders. It was a busy life, but a peaceful one. In the next moment, all that changed.

Dayalan stepped outside into the palm grove and turned to look at the sea. And he understood his wife’s terror. A 30-foot wall of black water stretched from one end of the beach to the other – and it was rushing toward them with the sound of a thousand freight trains!

Galvanized, Dayalan spun around and shouted at the top of his lungs,” Everybody drop everything!  To the lagoon! To the boat!” He began running, snatching up a child in each arm. Staff members and children poured out of the buildings and ran to the lagoon, where a fence with a gate barred the way. Dayalan tossed the smaller children over the fence while the others rushed through the gate.

“Where’s my daughter?” he cried, looking around desperately. One of the older girls shoved the child into his arms, and he tossed her into the boat while older children and the adults tumbled into the launch. Usually it took about 15 minutes to get children and staff aboard, but this time, everyone was in the boat in ten seconds flat.

The outboard motor was always removed from the launch at night to prevent its being stolen, but this had been an especially busy weekend, with the Christmas pageant, Christmas services and a dinner for 250 guests, including a number of Hindu villagers. Dayalan had been especially tired last night, so he had – just this once – left the motor in place. Stefan, the boatman, yanked at the cord, which always required several pulls to start the motor. This time, though, the engine roared to life at the first pull, and the overloaded launch charged into the lagoon just as the massive wall of water broke over the orphanage with a mighty roar.

The frightened passengers watched in horror as the water smashed a garage, their new Toyota pickup bobbing to the surface. The vehicle crashed into a palm tree and then was washed away like a toy and swallowed it up again by the massive wave. The pickup was followed by the maroon van, which also smashed into a tree before being thrown into the sea. Roofs splintered and flew off buildings. A motorized rickshaw, caught in a whirlpool, spun helplessly in a circle.

Everything the Sanderses had built up for twenty years was destroyed in moments. Not only was the tsunami crashing in from the sea, but the raging river was pouring into the far side of the lagoon. Dayalan was sure that when the two currents met, the launch would be swamped.

The wave was about 15 feet away, and they were eyeball to eyeball with the wall of water. A Bible verse popped into Dayalan’s head: “When the enemy comes in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord will lift up a standard against him.” (Isa. 59:19 NKJV).

Springing to his feet in the rocking boat, Dayalan raised both hands toward the tsunami wave and shouted, “I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ, on the strength of the Scriptures, to stand still!” And the mighty wave stopped, as though held back by an invisible hand. It did not hesitate long, but it was long enough for the launch to get to the far side of the lagoon. As they passed a young man struggling in the water, they were even able to pull him into the launch.

Dayalan thought perhaps he had imagined that the water stood still, but later he was approached by some villagers who had survived by climbing palmyra trees.

“Why did the water stop for a moment when it reached your land?” they asked. “Was it the density of the trees or the buildings?” Dayalan saw a chance for a quick sermon.

“There is no power on earth that could have held it  back,” he answered.” It was the power of God. I called upon God, and I commanded it in the name of Jesus, who 2,000 years ago commanded the waves, and they obeyed. He commanded the sea, and it obeyed. And this is the very same God. He did the same for us, and He gave us those precious few seconds that we needed.”

                The Sanderses lost everything they had, but they saved every life belonging to the orphanage. Dayalan’s sisters back in Maryland started a fund to help him rebuild. He and Kohila bought 25 acres farther inland, and although construction was delayed because of social and political unrest in the area, the couple and their staff were soon caring for 81 children.

               

Roosevelt College, Middleburg, Netherlands

They really love FDR in Middleburg. They have a street, a college and an institute named for him. This building, housing the college, is the old -- very old -- city hall.