Friday, February Twenty-Fifth

Doggone it, I’ve never had a computer virus before, but there’s a first time for everything, huh? I guess I should consider myself lucky that I’ve surfed this long, the last few years virtually unprotected, and not “contracted” anything, but there you go: My preferred computer for working on the Op Op is in the shop.

Fortunately, I have two computers; unfortunately, it was my laptop that got sick; fortunately, my desktop is fine; unfortunately, the desktop is upstairs, and with my foot in a cast, getting up there isn’t very convenient. (Hell, with one foot out of commission, nothing can be convenient.) But fortunately, I’ve decided to crutch up and down the steps, anyway.

Unfortunately, I had a number of posts in the works—ready to put online, in fact!—that existed only on the laptop. I have high hopes that they’ll still be there when I get my laptop back. (Knock on wood; touch metal; toss salt over my shoulder.) Meanwhile, you are treated to the lameness of this-here post.

*Sigh.*

More than ever, I have to admit, getting out of the house is becoming extraordinarily exciting. (Yes, I could drive, but I know I had better not—cops and insurance companies wouldn’t think it was very funny.)

Yesterday, for instance, I rode with Sue to Columbia and got my hair cut! Wow! Such excitement! And I spent the morning on campus at the Museum of Art and Archaeology! They’ve got a really good show going on right now, of a summer art colony that existed in Ste. Genevieve during the thirties.

The ride to Columbia, the art museum, the haircut—that was some doin’s, I tell ya, and I would have done more, if the weather hadn’t gotten all crappy on me. (N.b.: Crutching in snow, sleet, and slush is only better than crutching on smooth wet tiles or on ice.)

Saturday was another big outing—Sue got us tickets to see the final performance of a stage adaptation of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility at the Stephens Playhouse, and we met my folks there.

Each time I go to a Stephens performance, I’m impressed and greatly entertained. They do things so well there! And every time, I come away thinking, “We need to go to more of these. This is art; this is real; this is the kind of thing that makes me proud to be human. We should do this more often!”

Okay, let’s make this perfectly clear: I’m not saying that it’s a good thing to be gimped up. But I have to admit that it sure makes you appreciate simple things a whole lot more.

What's an Opulent Opossum?

I’m not sure I can say this succinctly. The Opulent Opossum is me, in a way, but it’s also an attitude, and it’s also our cat Patches. Maybe if I describe the three, you’ll get the idea.

See, Patches was a stray who hung out with a whole flock of semi-feral cats that the neighbors were “growing” in their junk-filled shed with the broken door. Our first winter in our house, we felt sorry for this flock and (yeah) we started feeding them, leaving our back porch door propped open on the coldest nights so they wouldn’t freeze. They were all scared to death of us, but they did like the free food and clean water, and they got used to us watching them from the kitchen window, which looks out to the porch. They always scattered when we opened the door, however.

Anyway, Patches was different. In fact, she wasn’t at all part of their big clan. Unlike the semi-feral strays, she had been someone’s dear kitty, which they nevertheless abandoned. Whoever her stupid former owners were, they gave her a flea collar when she was a kitten and didn’t bother to remove it when they abandoned her.

And the other cats despised her, and for good reason: She was mean as spit to them. And she was lovey-dovey to us. We noticed the problem with her and the others, so we started giving out food in separate bowls so they wouldn’t fight. Still, despite their discomfort with each other, she would huddle inside with them on the porch on those cold nights—only in her own corner, all by herself.

Well, to make a long story short, that next spring, the now-mature clan of feral cats began work at making the next generation, and the backyard was starting to thaw and stink, so we had the animal shelter come out and, basically, trap all the feral kitties. Wow, that was a hard week—but it had to be done. Jeff City doesn’t have a no-kill animal shelter (that returned our calls). There’s more to the story, but I’ll save it for some other time. So, it was very sad. We did adopt Patches, though.

At first we were hoping to find a good home for her. We got her spayed and wormed, and we got all her shots and stuff. And we quickly discovered that her pugnacity spills over into her relations with all other cats, including our kitties, so she had to be separated from them. I think she just doesn’t see where she has much in common with a bunch of hairy, inarticulate animals. In her mind, she’s a person in a cat suit. She only wants to hang around with people. No problems with self-esteem, here!

Meanwhile, she’s a funny-looking cat. Nope, they can’t all be Abyssinians. She’s a pale calico—mainly white, plus gray and tan, in patches (duh) that meld into one another in a way that would make cat-show judges deduct points. She’s not a large cat, but she’s plump and round like a possum. And her arms and legs are thin and dainty, white, very funny-looking under her paunchy body. Her face is flat, and her eyes are googley—big and round. She always looks like she’s staring, surprised. Her pretty pink nose has a black spot on it. She simply is not a cat that will win any beauty pageants. But does she know this? Nooooo!!!

We ended up adopting her. Yes, we’re still working to integrate her with the other kitties, but meanwhile, she’s opulently affectionate to us. She thinks that we are The Coolest People Ever, and she jumps on our laps and hugs us and buries her face in our necks and makes “air biscuits” and all of that. She rolls over on her back with her paws in the air, showing us her glorious white belly and her little cat nipples, as if she were modeling for one of Matisse’s odalisque paintings.

Opulent, indeed.

For a continuation of "What's an Opulent Opossum?" click "newer post" below; there are four parts to this "introduction"!