4 star possums
At night I also ponder deeply the questions of possums (think squirrels without the acorns and you’re partway there). Ah yes, those cute, fuzzy, feral critters who scamper playfully (and very loudly - think elephants with jackboots on) across my corrugated iron roof at night and then leap gaily into the palm trees, swinging exuberantly from frond to frond yelling insults to their friends. Yes, possums, so beloved of us all. So cute on TV, or curled up as a pet on an eccentric academic’s shoulder as he saunters around campus. So warm and cosy made into stunning (and expensive) possum “mink” products in New Zealand.
I wonder is it nature or nurture?
Do Ma & Pa Possum take them out on training hunts around the neighbourhood as they grow up? Do they learn by observing their parent’s antics the best (and loudest) way to leap from a tree onto the weakest (and noisiest) part of one’s roof at 1am? Do they have lessons in how to avoid eating weeds in favour of more exotic imported foodstuff such as herbs and orchids? Does the slowest one back from the hunt have to sleep outside in the sun all day as punishment? Do they get sent on extra-curricular contortionist classes where you get bonus points for squeezing your 8 pound body into a 3 inch hole in the roof cavity, and even more for re-materializing intact on the other side?
Or, even if they were raised by a sheep (or a talking spider) would something in their genetic make-up still turn on and determine their darkest desires and base behaviour? Would they still be possums at heart?
So, do possums love, lust, eat, do they …? OK, I know they do all of that because I have documented evidence they do. A lot of evidence. And while I am all for the whole 60s “Peace, Possum” “Live, and let live” ethos, surely even I must have limits? I (like Sammy) can acknowledge their pain, and their need to do what they must to survive. But seriously folks, do they need to do it in my back courtyard? Or on my balcony at 2 am? Hmmm? Most importantly I want to know why out of all the possums in the world, I have come to harbour a family of possums of shall we say more elevated tastes than is the norm? A little grass here, a few buds there. Sounds simple doesn’t it? No my the local possums are more discerning than that. New millennia, so they decided to branch out and get an education, to watch TV - specifically cooking and gardening shows. How do I know this? Am I the David Attenborough of the Seer World? Have I spent years following them with a hidden night vision camera determinedly ignoring the sluttish “Do I look like Paris Possum?” comments from the prettiest hottest possum and focusing only on the meta? I know this because the very day I watch a segment on Thai food and start taking down the recipe, that very same night something … yes, something of the possum persuasion … eats all my lemongrass down to the roots. The day I bring home a tiny Javanese orchid after watching the orchid festival on TV (okay I’m not a complete nerd, that was my elderly anchor), it gets chomped. The day I get excited about Lebanese cooking and want Tabbouleh, they demolish all my parsley plants. So, either my those possums are possessed and psychic, or they are fiendishly tapping into my television antenna!
I have tried secretly setting subliminal tape recordings going in the neighbour’s yard (FYI - healthy hibiscus plants are perfect for hiding tape recorders even those giant old reel-to-reel ones they pay you to take away from the local car boot sale) during their day-time snooze where the sound of bamboo flutes mingled with what an elderly Asian woman at the market swore to me was possum for “the grass is greener over here, dudes.”
I have tried turning the television to a ::shock horror:: sport-only channel, but even that defeats me with ads for food. What is it with this decade? Even the ads give exciting food coverage. Salsa and corn chips? There go my tomatoes and chillies. There are even ads promulgating the benefits of fruit and vegetables! There went my kumquat, orange, and zucchini crops.
I have tried bounding around the courtyard with my trusty stave (might as well, it only worked the once on the fic - must have known I wasn’t going to follow through with my threat to wallop my beautiful trusty Apple MacBook (love, true love)). The possums, like the fic, blew raspberries and blueberries, and then they started getting down and dirty and insulting SPN. The hide of those critters! Round and round we went at 2.30am. Round and round on the pavers in my courtyard went me and mine stave. And round and round in the palm treetops went the possums. Guess who won? Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have your neighbours having hysterics on their balconies while a bunch of gourmet possums yells “Nyah, nyah. Loser!” at you? While you are wearing flannel pyjamas with little sheep (don’t ask) on?
All I can say is possums leave very little time for meditating on fic!
Note: No possums were harmed during this post (no matter how hard I tried they were just too darned fast for me).
I wonder is it nature or nurture?
Do Ma & Pa Possum take them out on training hunts around the neighbourhood as they grow up? Do they learn by observing their parent’s antics the best (and loudest) way to leap from a tree onto the weakest (and noisiest) part of one’s roof at 1am? Do they have lessons in how to avoid eating weeds in favour of more exotic imported foodstuff such as herbs and orchids? Does the slowest one back from the hunt have to sleep outside in the sun all day as punishment? Do they get sent on extra-curricular contortionist classes where you get bonus points for squeezing your 8 pound body into a 3 inch hole in the roof cavity, and even more for re-materializing intact on the other side?
Or, even if they were raised by a sheep (or a talking spider) would something in their genetic make-up still turn on and determine their darkest desires and base behaviour? Would they still be possums at heart?
So, do possums love, lust, eat, do they …? OK, I know they do all of that because I have documented evidence they do. A lot of evidence. And while I am all for the whole 60s “Peace, Possum” “Live, and let live” ethos, surely even I must have limits? I (like Sammy) can acknowledge their pain, and their need to do what they must to survive. But seriously folks, do they need to do it in my back courtyard? Or on my balcony at 2 am? Hmmm? Most importantly I want to know why out of all the possums in the world, I have come to harbour a family of possums of shall we say more elevated tastes than is the norm? A little grass here, a few buds there. Sounds simple doesn’t it? No my the local possums are more discerning than that. New millennia, so they decided to branch out and get an education, to watch TV - specifically cooking and gardening shows. How do I know this? Am I the David Attenborough of the Seer World? Have I spent years following them with a hidden night vision camera determinedly ignoring the sluttish “Do I look like Paris Possum?” comments from the prettiest hottest possum and focusing only on the meta? I know this because the very day I watch a segment on Thai food and start taking down the recipe, that very same night something … yes, something of the possum persuasion … eats all my lemongrass down to the roots. The day I bring home a tiny Javanese orchid after watching the orchid festival on TV (okay I’m not a complete nerd, that was my elderly anchor), it gets chomped. The day I get excited about Lebanese cooking and want Tabbouleh, they demolish all my parsley plants. So, either my those possums are possessed and psychic, or they are fiendishly tapping into my television antenna!
I have tried secretly setting subliminal tape recordings going in the neighbour’s yard (FYI - healthy hibiscus plants are perfect for hiding tape recorders even those giant old reel-to-reel ones they pay you to take away from the local car boot sale) during their day-time snooze where the sound of bamboo flutes mingled with what an elderly Asian woman at the market swore to me was possum for “the grass is greener over here, dudes.”
I have tried turning the television to a ::shock horror:: sport-only channel, but even that defeats me with ads for food. What is it with this decade? Even the ads give exciting food coverage. Salsa and corn chips? There go my tomatoes and chillies. There are even ads promulgating the benefits of fruit and vegetables! There went my kumquat, orange, and zucchini crops.
I have tried bounding around the courtyard with my trusty stave (might as well, it only worked the once on the fic - must have known I wasn’t going to follow through with my threat to wallop my beautiful trusty Apple MacBook (love, true love)). The possums, like the fic, blew raspberries and blueberries, and then they started getting down and dirty and insulting SPN. The hide of those critters! Round and round we went at 2.30am. Round and round on the pavers in my courtyard went me and mine stave. And round and round in the palm treetops went the possums. Guess who won? Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have your neighbours having hysterics on their balconies while a bunch of gourmet possums yells “Nyah, nyah. Loser!” at you? While you are wearing flannel pyjamas with little sheep (don’t ask) on?
All I can say is possums leave very little time for meditating on fic!
Note: No possums were harmed during this post (no matter how hard I tried they were just too darned fast for me).