Oswald
THE ALMOST FAMOUS OPOSSUM
Written by
Sara Pascoe
Illustrated by
Varya Kolesnikova
Copyright © Sara Pascoe 2016
www.sarapascoe.co/[email protected]/
ISBN: 978-0-9935747-0-2
Published by Trindles and Green, Ltd
Loxwood, 6 Alumdale Road
Bournemouth, BH4 8HX
United Kingdom
www.trindlesandgreen.com
Distributed by Atlasbooks (1-800-BOOK LOG or 1-800-266-5564)
Varya Kolesnikova, Illustrator. behance.net/paskamarja
Lindsey Alexander, Editor. http://www.lindsey-alexander.com
Anton Nesterov, front cover design. behance.net/antonnesterov
The right of Sara Pascoe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988, UK.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.
To David
and
to Mount Rainier, Maryland
Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s
soul remains unawakened.
— Anatole France
CONTENTS
1 Oswald’s Endeavors
2 The Climb
3 High-Maintenance Marsupial
4 Possum Proverbs
5 A Backward March Toward Fame
6 Busted
7 Barnard Hill Park
8 Is There an App for That?
9 A Change of Heart
10 The Voice of The Storm
11 A Bigger Story
12 A Candid Canine
13 Bit of a Predicament
14 Right and Out of Sight
15 An Aim and a Purpose
16 The Kindness of Strangers
17 Mistaken Identity
18 Flock Disorder
19 Seeing Clearly
20 Homeward Bound
21 Cartoon Blue Sky
22 A Double-Decker Raccoon with a Crow on Top
23 What’s Next?
24 Naja Arrives
25 A Bunch of Heads are Better Than One
26 Old Trusty Rusty
27 Wagon Train
28 Good Neighbors
29 Comforts of Home
30 You Never Know What’s Cooking in Someone Else’s Pot
31 Ice Cream
32 The Last Straw
33 The Sit of Your Life
34 Ride, Naja, Ride
35 Beauty for the Beasts
36 No Doubt
37 Video
38 Terrible But not Tragic
39 The Possum’s all Right
40 The Need to Leave
41 To See a Monday
42 The Second Best News
43 A Real Card
44 Something Cool
45 We are Family
1
OSWALD’S ENDEAVORS
Joey tried to remember what his mom had just said. She stood there with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. Her curly hair shone in the kitchen lights, bright compared to the dimming sky outside this May evening. The counters were spotless, although you could still smell the macaroni, cheese, and broccoli casserole they’d had for dinner. Some of Joey’s excellent test results were displayed on the refrigerator, much to Joey’s embarrassment. Not that there was really anyone to be embarrassed in front of these days. He risked glimpsing through the glass doors to the back deck. Oswald, his good opossum friend, blinked back and shifted from foot to foot to foot to foot.
“Come on, we’ve got to get going,” Melvin, Joey’s cat, said from the floor next to the door.
“I know,” Joey answered.
“You know what?” his mother, Ann, asked.
“Uh oh,” Melvin said and swooshed out the cat flap.
Ann tipped Joey’s face up to hers. He looked away—everyone said his almond-shaped brown eyes gave away what he was thinking. “You were talking to the cat, weren’t you?” She shook her head, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Bread. You were going to go get some more so I can make your sandwiches for tomorrow. Remember?”
Joey smiled as he grabbed his bicycle helmet. “Of course I remember,” he said and bounded out the door.
“What took you so long?” Oswald felt as cross as Ann had looked. But he never could stay annoyed with the boy for long. He was such a lovely lad, always interested in new things and up for adventure. Yes, becoming quite a nice young fellow, under my guidance, he thought.
“Hey, we had to eat all the bread while his mom wasn’t looking so he had an excuse to go out on a school night. Don’t get your tail in a knot,” Melvin huffed, as he maneuvered between the boy and opossum.
“My tail is prehensile, but I certainly don’t tie it in knots,” Oswald said proudly.
Melvin narrowed his eyes. “Glad we have that straightened out.”
“OK, you guys. Ready?” Joey said, as he plunked his bicycle helmet over his dark curls and continued before he got an answer. “I’ll go get my bike.” He leaped down the stairs and disappeared behind the garage.
Oswald was nervous, winding and unwinding his tail around his front leg.
“You’ll be all right. We’ve been over this a thousand times,” Melvin said.
“I think it was more like twelve. There’s no need for hyperbole.” Oswald paused to see if Melvin understood this big word. Oswald was going to be famous, and fame, he knew, came with responsibilities, like setting a good example for others, being a role model. Improving his vocabulary was one of the ways he’d been preparing for his new life.
Joey glided his bike to a stop beside the deck.
“Whatever, man,” Melvin said and jumped into the large basket on the front. He settled in on an old towel nestled atop a large coil of rope in the basket. Joey clipped his chinstrap in place, grabbed the handlebars, and put a foot on a pedal.
“Come on, Oswald. Let’s go,” Joey said.
Oswald peered over the edge of the deck. It was a full four feet to the ground, and exactly eleven inches from the deck to the bicycle basket. Joey had measured it for him—twice. Oswald had jumped farther than that lots of times, when climbing down trees, for example. But now, as the sun was starting to set, and his best friends were ready to help him make his dreams come true, those inches telescoped out in front of him. What if something goes wrong? What if I don’t get into the newspaper? Becoming famous had been Oswald’s dream for so long he didn’t know what he’d do without it. His mother always told him he would “be a real somebody, be important someday.” And now that she was gone, he wanted to prove her right all the more.
Boy and cat stared at him. It wouldn’t do to discuss his trepidation now; it certainly wasn’t full-blown fear.
“Do you think that old towel is suitable? Might you have something nicer?” Oswald said.
All at once, Melvin jumped back onto the deck and shoved Oswald over the edge. Joey caught him and carefully lifted him into the basket.
Melvin leapt back in and Joey clipped a bungee cord across the basket as a sort of seat belt, just as his mother opened the back door.
“Joey? Oh good, you’re still here.”
“Dang.” Melvin shoved Oswald underneath him and Joey tugged the towel over them, leaving only Melvin’s head sticking out. Ann walked down the steps and handed Joey some money.
“Looks like we’re out of peanut butter, too. Can you please get a jar while you’
re at it?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“You better be growing—you’re eating me out of house and home.” She looked down at the bicycle basket. “You sure it’s a good idea to take poor Melvin? Wouldn’t he rather stay here?” She reached for the cat, but Joey banged his foot on the pedal and started across the yard.
“Nah, he likes to ride,” Joey called over his shoulder.
Joey sped through the front gate and onto the quiet street. Melvin shrugged the towel off, and Oswald gasped for air.
“Was that necessary?” Oswald sputtered.
Joey had taken Oswald on a couple of short rides before, up and down the block to get him used to it, but now it felt like they were flying. The tires thrummed as Joey stood to go even faster. Oswald thought he might be sick. He looked at Melvin, whiskers and ears blown back, a look of bliss on his furry face.
“Isn’t this great? It’s because of you we got this ride, man. Thanks,” Melvin said.
Oswald could tell Joey, too, was in the zone; boy and bicycle were one seamless machine. They had been so helpful with Oswald’s endeavors. They should have their fun, too, he reasoned. He turned forward, gripped the basket, and closed his eyes.
2
THE CLIMB
“Hey, we’re here. Get a move on.” Melvin nudged Oswald and sprung out of the basket. Oswald opened one eye, then the other. He’d been so intent on not fainting from fear—this would have been a terrible time for it—that he hadn’t noticed the bicycle had stopped. Joey crouched down and fastened one end of the long rope around Melvin’s middle with a climbing clip, like a very long leash. The cat and boy walked over to the large oak tree at the back of the library. The remaining coils of rope hung over Joey’s shoulder like he was some kind of rodeo star.
Melvin jumped onto the trunk and stuck like Velcro before climbing straight up. Joey unfurled the rope behind the cat, glancing at the bike.
“Come on, Oswald.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Indubitably.” Oswald climbed out of the basket and scurried over to the thick base of the tree. Strong branches reached out on all sides. One branch made a rasping sound as it scraped against the library roof in a breeze that didn’t reach the ground. The leaves blocked all but a few slashes of dusk with a sliver of moon peeking over the library roof.
“Oh dear, I think we forgot my harness. I’m ever so sorry about this, Joey, but I think we’ll have to try this again another night,” Oswald said.
“No problemo.” Joey pulled a red nylon harness from his back pocket and tossed it to Oswald.
“Look, Oswald,” Melvin said from halfway up the tree, “if you don’t want to do this, tell us now and we can all go home.”
“What? No. Of course I want to go ahead. If all those other animals can get into the newspaper, and for such silly things like getting locked in a store overnight, or riding on a bus, well then, I think it’s my turn. Don’t you think so?” Oswald paused and looked at his two friends. They nodded their agreement.
He stepped into the harness and waddled over to Joey, who clipped it together. Oswald started up, spiraling round and round the large tree trunk.
“Oh brother, this is going to take a while,” Melvin said, watching from above. The cat shook his head, then stepped from the branch onto the roof. He took a few steps to a small round window, tilted open to let hot air out.
After what seemed like a very long time, Oswald arrived on the branch that reached the roof. Oswald clung on as it bowed with his weight.
“Well, come on already.” Melvin was washing his face with his paw. “We don’t have forever. His mom thinks he’s gone to get a loaf of bread and peanut butter.”
“I know. I was there,” Oswald said.
“Yeah, and it was hard work eating it all after dinner,” Joey called from below.
“Shh,” Melvin said. “Don’t blow our cover.”
“Oh, right, sorry. Oswald, unclip the rope from Melvin, then clip it onto your harness. Melvin, help him,” Joey whisper-shouted through cupped hands.
“If he’d get off the stupid branch,” Melvin said, then grabbed Oswald’s harness with his teeth and tugged, pulling Oswald onto the roof. Oswald grunted fear and surprise.
“Don’t forget this was your idea, Oswald,” Melvin said.
Despite some fussing, they managed to unclip the rope from Melvin and clipped it onto Oswald’s harness.
“Oswald’s ready to be lowered in,” Melvin called down to Joey.
“I am?” Oswald said. “Are you sure this clip can hold my weight? Maybe we should test it.”
“We did already, a kazillion times, remember?” Melvin said, eyes narrowed. It was all Oswald could do not to point out his poor word choice.
“Oswald, relax,” Joey called out. “The clip can hold up to—”
“Stop right there.” A flashlight beam swirled through the tree, then rested on Joey. A tired-looking man in a navy-blue security uniform looked hard at the boy. “Drop whatever’s in your hands and put them above your head where I can see them.”
Joey dropped the rope and stomped on it. Oswald gasped as he plummeted then jolted to a stop swinging in small circles above the library floor a long way below.
“It’s the heat, man,” Melvin called to Oswald through the window. “Got to go.”
The rope rasped through the tree again and over the window ledge. Joey must have let out more rope accidentally. Oswald lurched again, this time far enough so that he was level with the second floor. It made a ring around the open atrium in the center. Oswald looked down and gulped. The floor was a good fifteen feet below. But that wasn’t Oswald’s only worry. Police of some sort, oh dear. I hope Joey remembers to be extra polite and not talk back. Oswald strained to hear what was going on outside.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just me and my cat. We don’t mean any harm—”
“Step away from the tree where I can see you, and keep your hands up!”
Joey had no choice but to step off the rope. He heard a faint swoosh, then something between a clunk and a smack. Poor Oswald must have landed in the library, but not as they’d planned. Joey hoped he was all right. He flinched as he imagined the rest of the rope coiling on top of the likely not very pleased possum. He couldn’t help but look up and the security guard followed his gaze. Luckily Melvin was scrambling down the tree.
“What’s going on up there?” the security guard asked.
“Meow!” Melvin meowed his cutest—no doubt attempting to win over the security guard.
“You see,” Joey say, trying his best to think faster than he spoke, “That’s my cat, Melvin. He made Cat Climbing Champ of Mount Rainier two years in a row and got third place in Prince George’s County last year. We’re training for the state try-outs next month, and this tree here, well, it’s one of the tallest and best climbing trees around.”
“Hold up now, son—slow down,” the guard said. “You mean to tell me you came here with your cat, so he can practice climbing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how old are you?”
“Ten, sir. Ten and two months.” He rattled off his full date of birth.
“You’re tall for ten.”
“Yes, sir, everybody says so.”
“Does your mother know you’re out here?”
“Oh, no. My mom sent me out to get bread and peanut butter, but I forgot all about it, and now I’m gonna be—”
“Well, you best be going, then.”
Melvin leaped into the bike basket with a small thump as Joey flung himself onto his bike and jumped on the pedals.
“Hey, don’t forget your helmet,” the security guard said.
“Yes, sir, thank you,” Joey said, his voice fading as he raced into the night.
3
HIGH-MAINTENANCE MARSUPIAL
From the cool, smooth library table where Oswald had landed, he blinked up at the small dark window in the ceiling. It looked so far away from this distance. He smelled musty paper and new carpet. H
e climbed out of the pile of rope. He used his back paw, with its handy opposable big toe, like a thumb, to try to unclip himself from the harness. He could feel the clip, but couldn’t open it. He grunted and tried with the other back paw, but that was no better. After rolling around a few times, all he managed to do was roll onto a chair and then plunk to the floor.
Surrounded by tall shelves stacked with books and newspapers, he was momentarily distracted from his rope problems. “Yes, yes. I need a book, a serious book. Then, I can be reading it when the staff come in tomorrow morning,” he said aloud, being in the habit of talking to himself when he was alone. He smiled as he imagined his photo in the Washington Post’s Animal Watch column, sitting in the library reading. Perhaps he’d be interviewed on TV. Maybe asked to sign autographs. Yes, this would show he was different from the other animals who got into the newspaper for trivial things. This would certainly launch his career—who knows where it might lead?
He started walking the length of the library, hoping this would untangle the rope while he searched for the right book. “This one looks good—lots of big words in the title.” He tugged it from the shelf with his teeth, then pushed it along the floor, back toward the table he had landed on. But then he noticed a small purple object under another table and left the book on the floor to investigate. It was just a hair clip, but it could come in handy, so he carried it in his tail and headed back to the book. But he took a few wrong turns, then a few more; when he came to the end of his rope, he was no closer to the book or where he started. Visions of fame popped like soap bubbles on a hot afternoon. He sat on his haunches and drummed his fingers on his sternum while he looked around for an idea. There it was—another excellent book, this one had a picture of lasagna on the cover, his favorite.
Yes, I could tell them I’m planning to open my own restaurant. Oswald thought about being the first animal to run a restaurant and how it would have a special section for animal customers. Ah, two more firsts! Yes, there will be no stopping me. Thoughts about everything he would do once he was famous spun in his head through the night until he heard keys jangle in the door and footsteps.
Oswald, the Almost Famous Opossum Page 1
