Not a cat

- Texas Opossum -

I heard loud crunching coming from the porch the other night, and looked out to see an opossum eating the food I put out for stray cats. I called out "Hey, Pickles!" and it momentarily looked up, then resumed eating. Eventually, it licked its paws clean and clambered down the steps. The creature's back feet looked like little hands wearing fingerless gloves.

In the photo, up to the right, there are two bits of metal I've found around. They're shaped like a J and a D, my children's initials.

The porch was poured by my Uncle Haskel (Hack), Dad's brother, back in 1964. My Grandma Daisy bought the house in Snyder and had it moved to the Hobbs farm for my mom and dad to live in. This was after my Grandpa Les died that same year. He ran off the Spring Creek Bridge in his pick-up, just north of Hobbs, and was killed in the crash.

The plumbing in the house was done by my uncle, Buster Taggart, who was married to my Aunt Imogene, my father's sister.

The house has passed through many hands since that time, and has had many hands take part in the maintenance and enhancement of it.

I look around inside the house and note that a table came from a neighbor, a desk from my mother, a couch from a friend. Everything this land and house and contents represents is an amalgamation of people and their efforts and what they left behind.

I realize that is also what I am, and what we all are. Imagine, each being that walks this earth is a put together puzzle that is unique in its rendering.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I saw a possum on the porch.