“She’s a goose,” Joey said, surprised at the edge in his voice.
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to call your goose friend a duck,” Suzette said.
Carlton snickered in the kitchen.
“No, I mean it—I understand how Joey feels. It would be like someone calling Mary or Noah lizards. Right?”
Carlton joined them in the family room, plopped down on the sofa, and grabbed the remote. “Or aliens. That’d be about right,” Carlton said and chuckled.
“Noah—he’s definitely an alien,” Joey said. He gave his dad a high five.
“You two,” Suzette said. “Who wants ice cream?”
32
THE LAST STRAW
After Miss Ann, Joey, and all the officers had left, the animals came out from under bushes and cars, or down from trees. Simone decided to go home, she was used to a quieter life. Melvin, Oswald, the rats, and Hazel the squirrel could all go into the house through the cat flap. But the raccoons were too big. And no one had seen Pixie since before they yelled surprise. Melvin stood on Oswald’s back and opened the door from the inside. Luckily it was a lever-style handle. The raccoons came in.
“I owe everyone an apology,” Oswald started. “Another one of my endeavors turned into a disaster.” He shuddered. His tail made an attempt at wrapping around his forelimb and even it seemed to give up, flopping onto the floor next to him.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Mo said, shaking his head. He walked up to the fridge and reached for the handle. “Get over yourself.”
“Mo!” Tessa said.
Tiny joined Mo and peered into the now-open fridge. “Bless Mrs. Edwards—she put the leftovers in here. But Oz, Mo does have a point. Not everything is your fault.” He pushed a plastic container onto the floor, then pushed it toward the living room.
“Hey—where’s Pixie?” Chuck asked, interrupting his own foraging in the still-open fridge. He stood on his hind legs and grabbed slices of cheese off a plate.
Hazel found a bag of honey-roasted nuts in the cabinet and jumped down. “Are we eating in the living room?”
Tiny called over his shoulder, “Yeah, thought we’d watch TV.”
Reggie and Tessa scampered toward the living room dragging carrot and celery sticks. “Pixie probably had something to do with Esmeralda getting into that pot of chili, don’t you think?” Reggie said as he moved vegetables.
Frank cocked his head from his perch on top of the kitchen cabinets. “It is strange her being the only one missing. I have to admit.” He hopped down next to Oswald.
The rest of them were in the living room now, except for Oswald and Frank. “Oh dear, this won’t do,” Oswald said aloud. He waddled over to the fridge to shut the door.
“Hold on a minute, I see some homemade mac and cheese, if you don’t mind,” Frank said.
“What? No, of course. Be my . . . Ann’s guest. I guess,” Oswald said. But Frank was already plodding backward, dragging the container across the floor toward the living room.
Oswald was listening to them talking about what to watch in the living room when he was distracted by the mess around him.
The fridge door, cabinets, and drawers were open. Food, utensils, unfurled paper towels, unrolled tin foil, and other odds and ends were strewn across the counters and floor. Melvin sauntered back in and over to his bowls. He took a long drink of water.
“Oh, Melvin.” Oswald sat down on the floor with his head in his paws. “What a mess.” Melvin lapped his water for another moment before turning around.
“Yup. Glad I didn’t invite all these idiots over,” Melvin said.
Oswald exhaled a possum-full of defeat. Melvin looked at him and twitched his tail.
“Hey, sorry man. That was harsh. What about I help clean up tomorrow? I’m supposed to stay at the Edwardses’. I better be going,” Melvin said.
“Sure,” was all Oswald could manage.
In the living room, all the animals were on the floor, except for the raccoons who certainly seemed fond of the couch. Tiny was holding the remote down while Frank pecked at the keys.
Chuck looked up at Oswald, “They’ve got Internet TV! Anything you want to watch?”
Oswald, deflated and heartbroken, didn’t answer. They all sounded far away. He barely heard the sitcom laughter from the TV, along with their chatting, munching, and slurping. Reggie went in and out of the kitchen collecting things—a bottle cap, a button, a plastic straw.
Oswald heard scurrying upstairs. Was someone under the floorboards?
“Everyone, we need to talk,” Oswald said.
“Shh. I want to see this,” Mo said.
“NOW,” Oswald said.
Frank turned the volume up.
“Can it wait ’til this is over? I love this show!” Tessa said.
Oswald walked out of the living room and into the study. How can they be so thoughtless? And me, how could I have been so stupid to think this plan would ever work? Now I’ve more than done it. I’ve really ruined everything—and maybe for good. Another episode of the comedy had started. His animal friends laughed, chattered, and cawed at the show. The light of the television flickered into the study. Here he was, on the inside, but he still felt like he was on the outside. He went out the cat flap and trundled down the steps to his home under the deck and into his own bed.
33
THE SIT OF YOUR LIFE
Monday morning, a new day, a new week, Oswald told himself. He thought about going next door to the Edwardses’ to see Zola and Melvin. Maybe I should move out, too. He smoothed his face while looking in his can-lid mirror. He saw a coward and a failure. He’d lost his best human friend, put the boy’s mother in jail, and another possum was traumatized, all on his watch.
I need to get them out of the house.
He got out of his home from under the deck and stopped in his tracks when he heard her voice. Pixie. She was on the deck, braiding Tiny’s tail as it hung through the back of a plastic chair. She was wearing a bright-orange plastic shopping bag, with holes for her head and arms. Her fur was decorated with twist ties, rubber bands, and a few pop-tops. She had her sparkly cat-eye glasses on and was chatting away.
“Now don’t forget to tell everyone where you got your fur done,” she said.
“I won’t,” Tiny said.
“Where have you been, Pixie?” Oswald said.
Pixie stopped braiding. “I heard the news. Terrible. Poor thing. Will she be all right?” Pixie gnashed her teeth.
“Yes, they think Esmeralda just fainted, more from all the pandemonium than anything else. The chili was only warm. But they took her in for a full checkup, to be sure,” Oswald said, “Where’d you go?”
Pixie started on another braid. “My sister’s. I forgot she asked me to stop over.”
“Oh,” he said and started to go in when he saw that the cat flap had been removed and all that was left was a large hole.
He turned to Tiny, “How did this happen?”
Tiny craned his neck while Pixie continued her furdressing. “Oh, that. We enlarged it—removed the cat flap part so we larger beings can get in and out.”
Pixie nodded confirmation.
Oswald started to protest, but lost strength and went into the house to see everything he was facing before choosing his battles.
The house was even more of a mess than yesterday. There were open takeout containers with food still in them. An empty pizza box on the dining room floor. Oswald heard voices, one unfamiliar. He peered into the living room. A huge raccoon with a bald tail and a patch over one eye, like a pirate, lolled on the couch.
“Oh, this is good. This is real good,” Baldy said. Mo stood next to the couch like an usher at a theater. “Can I have another ten minutes? I’ve got the money,” Baldy said as he wriggled back and forth, eyes closed.
“You’ll have to get back in line. It wouldn’t be fair to the others. But you can buy refreshments while you wait,” Mo said.
The raccoon rolled off a
nd wandered out the front door. A skunk came in and handed Mo some coins. After he studied them and clicked them against his teeth, he dropped them into a mug on the floor. He looked at a clock on the wall, “Your time starts . . . now,” he said to the skunk who clambered up onto the couch.
Oswald went out the front door. There was a line of about ten animals on the porch and down the steps. These included raccoons, skunks, a porcupine, someone’s dog—she had a collar—and a tortoise. Chuck had set up shop. There was food in piles, a tube of toothpaste, a bottle of ketchup, and juice boxes lined up under one of the old chairs.
“Two cents a squirt, ketchup or toothpaste,” Chuck said to a skunk.
“How about one cent for the ketchup?” the skunk said.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid. This is premium brand stuff, my friend,” Chuck said. He drummed his fingers on his stomach.
Oswald scurried down the steps and around the side of the porch before he hoisted himself up. “Psst. Chuck—what are you doing?”
Chuck startled, then broke into a grin. “Isn’t this great? Where’ve you been? We’ve already made a dollar and thirty-five cents. We’re going to split it fifty-fifty with Miss Ann to help with her legal fees.”
“You can’t sell time on the couch. What if someone goes to the bathroom on it?”
This got a roar of indignation from the waiting crowd.
“What sort of animals do you think we are?” huffed the tortoise.
“I’m house trained,” the dog said. “I’m just not allowed on the furniture—”
“Oh, and a couch . . . ,” one of the waiting raccoons said, and almost swooned with the thought.
Oswald climbed onto the porch. This was not a private conversation anymore. Then he saw the sign taped to a porch post. In poorly drawn block letters it read:
THE SIT OF YOUR LIFE
TEN MINUTES ON A REAL COUCH
10 CENTS.
34
RIDE, NAJA, RIDE
Suzette waited in the minivan in front of Mount Rainier Elementary School. Joey was talking to Ghalib and Ria. After a few minutes, Suzette beeped the horn. He talked to his friends a little longer, then hopped in the car. Noah and Mary were strapped into their car seats in the back.
“In the back, Joey. Please,” Suzette said. She seemed tense or annoyed. Joey smiled to himself, feeling bad—but not that bad—for irritating her. He got into the back seat and strapped in. He forgot she was one of those grown-ups who didn’t let kids sit in the front. She drove off.
“Everything OK? Any news about my mom?” Joey said.
Suzette leaned forward, clutched the wheel, and made a turn.
“What? No. Joey, could you please get in the car when you see me and not make me wait?”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I was just saying good-bye to my friends.”
“Hi, Joey,” Mary said. “I made you a picture.” She held up a crayon drawing of a beige and brown cat. “My mom says you have a cat like this.”
“Thanks, Mary,” Joey said.
“Hi, Joey-Joey,” Noah said and beamed.
Joey chatted with Mary and Noah. The ride seemed longer than he remembered.
“Ducks!” Noah said, pointing out the window. It was the Merkle Wildlife Sanctuary sign with geese.
“Those are geese, Noah,” Suzette broke her silence and caught Joey’s eye in the rearview mirror.
“Hey, you brought me here!” Joey said.
“As promised. Ms. Harris said to go to her office. Are you all right going in on your own?” Suzette said as she stopped the car in front.
Joey was already halfway out. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Great. Have fun. Your dad will pick you up,” Suzette said and drove away.
Joey followed Ms. Harris into a large storage shed. There was wood lined up along the wall, fencing, fifty-pound bags of animal feed, other supplies, and equipment.
“Come take a look at these. See what you think,” Ms. Harris said. Joey followed her around the large stacks of feed to three brightly colored, adult-sized tricycles. They looked more like bicycles in the front, with a two-wheeled carriage at the back. The carriage had a soft roof that looked like it folded down. Under this roof was a bench seat covered in red vinyl. That faced a smaller wooden bench, painted blue.
“Rickshaws,” Ms. Harris said.
“What are they for?” Joey said.
“They were for giving rides to visitors, but it didn’t catch on like we were hoping. After seeing the picture your mom posted of you training Naja with your wagon hitched to your bike—”
“My mom posted a picture of us?”
“Yes, on our Facebook page. That’s how the newspaper got wind of it and arranged with your mom to go to the house again yesterday.” Ms. Harris freed one of the rickshaws from the things around it and wheeled it to Joey. “Want to give it a try?”
“Sure.”
Joey took the rickshaw from Ms. Harris. It was weird and cool at the same time.
“Naja’s psyched you’re coming. Her splint is off now, too.
Ms. Harris and Joey placed a piece of plywood across the two back seats. After a struggle, they folded down the roof. Joey pedaled the rickshaw, standing up to get going, and Ms. Harris walked alongside. Joey parked it in front of the flock disorder unit and ran in ahead of Ms. Harris.
Joey barely glanced over his shoulder to Ms. Harris. “That’s OK—you go right ahead.”
He flung the gate to Naja’s pen open and hugged the goose, his head buried in her feathers.
“Gentle now,” Ms. Harris said.
Joey was glad she hadn’t asked a question, because the tears he’d been holding back since yesterday came out, all over Naja. She draped her long neck over his shoulder, and if he wasn’t imagining it, she rubbed his back with her beak. This made him laugh, and he stood up.
“It’s great to see you, Naja. Ready?” he said.
“It’s good to see you too, Joey. Yes, let’s go!” Naja said and gave her wings a gentle flap.
Ms. Harris held the door to the unit open for the boy and goose. “OK, you two.” Joey and Ms. Harris lifted Naja onto the bench.
And off they went for the rest of the afternoon. Joey pedaled in long straightaways, checking on Naja over his shoulder. She would flap hard a few times, and Joey would speed up. Then she’d catch the air and glide, as Joey kept pedaling before she’d settle on the bench again. Joey counted her flaps aloud each time before takeoff—one, two, three, four, five, six—with Naja honking the count. Boy and goose, speeding and gliding, speeding and gliding. The wind in his face the same that lifted her wings.
35
BEAUTY FOR THE BEASTS
Zola sat on a chair on the Edwardses’ porch. Oswald and Melvin were on the table. They watched the goings-on over at Miss Ann’s this Tuesday morning. The line for “The Sit of Your Life” trailed off the porch, down the steps, and all the way to the front gate. A wire-haired dachshund walked into the yard.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Beauty for the Beasts?” Ms. Dachshund said.
“In the back,” came the chorus from the waiting couch sitters.
“See what I mean? The situation is out of control,” Oswald said to Melvin and Zola.
Melvin grabbed his back leg like it might be trying to get away from him and washed it with gusto. “At least they’re earning money toward Miss Ann’s defense,” Melvin said.
Oswald spluttered. “For goodness’ sake. What could they have earned so far—ten, maybe twenty dollars? You can’t get more than a few minutes with a lawyer for that.”
“Yeah, but it’s more than any of us are doing.”
Oswald felt a hot flush run through him. He opened and closed his mouth, but said nothing. He took a few deep breaths before he could speak. “You have no idea how bad I feel,” Oswald started to say. “How do I get rid of them?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I haven’t had my late-mid-morning nap yet,” Melvin said and closed his eyes. “Oh, right—I pro
mised to help with the mess. I will help, but later.”
Zola shrugged. “I’ll help later, too. But I’m about to go do some therapy right now. Mrs. Edwards is taking me in a few minutes.”
Zola’s a therapist? Oswald was surprised at how much he didn’t know about his friends. He saw her in a new light—the scars, the stiff gait. Maybe this was all related. He was ashamed he’d never asked her more about her life before.
“Zola, that is very noble of you—being a therapy dog. I would love to hear all about it. Later, once I get all this back under control,” Oswald said.
Zola looked at him as though she hadn’t seen him properly before either. She cocked her head and blinked, “Sure . . . if you’re interested.”
Zola and Melvin exchanged looks.
“You feeling all right, man?” Melvin said to Oswald.
“Never felt better, my good friend. It’s time I stepped up to the plate,” Oswald said, took a deep breath, then marched down the steps from the Edwardses’ porch.
He stomped up the steps to Ann’s porch as loud as he could. “Excuse me, I have an announcement.”
But no one paid him any mind. They continued their conversations and buying and eating snacks.
“I said excuse me!”
Still no one seemed to notice him.
“THE COUCH IS CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE!”
Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him.
“But, Oswald, we’re running a business. I thought you approved,” Chuck said.
“I never said I approved. And now, I’m shutting it down!” Oswald said.
The screen door swung open. Mo came out, looked surprised. “What’s going on, Oz? We have a good thing going here. It’ll pay for more takeout.”
“No, this has all gone too far. It’s my fault, my responsibility, so I’m fixing it. Starting with you, couch sitters—out!” Oswald was surprised at the forcefulness in his voice.
Oswald, the Almost Famous Opossum Page 12
