There were never any good ol’ days
March 19, 2008 | 11:27 pm | Photo Album | El Perro | 2
Gogol Bordello restored my faith in rock-n-roll last night. Best show of the year, so far, but Dengue Fever is next weekend so we shall see.
Before the show I was walking Gus* as the sun was setting when we crossed paths with a small gray creature moving slowly along the sidewalk. On a couple of evenings Gus and I have come across a huge possum chillaxin’ near the dumpster in the alley across the street. By huge I mean bigger than Gus, who weighs 25 pounds. I think someone feeds it — there is a hole under the fence through which it always scurries and in the mornings I see paper plates with what looks like cat food lovingly placed in the escape path.
But last night the possum we saw was quite small, probably juvenile, and slow to climb the bush where it sought refuge from my canine. Gus was straining at his leash and I was curious to get as close to the joey as possible, but the kiddo remained calm and cool, not quite playing dead but not ignoring us either. I damned myself for not having my camera and briefly considered running inside for it but was afraid the dude would be gone by then. It was cute! I wanted to snuggle it, but the thought of it’s tiny possum paws scratching out my eyeballs made me keep my distance. That and the fact Gus was FREAKING OUT. Anyway, I think it’s pretty cool that I live about one minute from downtown off one of the busiest streets in Houston and I have wildlife literally in my front yard.
Here comes the sad part of the story: this morning as we were walking before work Gus and I came across a stray cat near the same dumpster where we see the big possum. Cat looked dirty and skinny from afar, typical for a stray, but it was lazing in a patch of sunlight and seemed undisturbed until it noticed us and Gus noticed it. Then it raised it’s head and I could see what looked like a long, thick string of either snot or pus hanging from it’s face. One of it’s eyes was swollen closed. And instead of darting away it got up real slow and then I saw that it’s tail was almost nearly hairless and as thin around as my pinkie. It didn’t even have the energy to run away, only to hiss a weak warning at us.
The whole sight was so simultaneously saddening and disgusting that I felt physically ill. I’m am not much of a cat lover, but jeez, even a raging bastard could understand why I had a hard time choking back tears as I walked back to our door. Poor, poor baby. I wonder now if the cat food was actually for the cat, not the fat possum, and if so then someone is severely neglecting that cat, even if it’s just someone who’s feeding a stray.
I couldn’t be party to that neglect, so as soon as I got to work I called the HSPCA. I’m not entirely sure I’ve done my good deed for the day though. If the cat gets rescued and rehabilitated then I’ll think I have, but even if it’s humanely put out of it’s misery I will feel better for having called. Uhg, even the small amount of recollection it takes to type this has my throat tightening and my heart hurting for that poor little baby.
*Speaking of Gus, this month my sweet little clown is turning six years old.
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With God as my witness, I had a pet possum growing up. It was the cutest, sweetest thing in the world. We found it when it was a baby and hand-raised it until it got old and died.
Also with God as my witness, you are the only other person I’ve ever heard call a possum cute. Besides me.