TWO

As the moon climbed higher the nocturnal garden creatures came to life. Crickets launched into a symphony as a chorus of frogs began to sing. From the edge of the woods emerged a few courageous opossums ready to forage for the evening meal, their clever beady eyes scanning the garden for hidden dangers. Curled tightly in their tails were sticks and miniature shovels. Some carried small, burlap sacks on their backs in order to transport food, while others pulled small wagons.

“I hope we catch a nasty ol’ rat tonight,” said Silas, an older opossum that was revered for his rat-catching skills. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

“Nor I,” agreed Henry, rubbing his tummy in anticipation. “I’ve grown tired of table scraps.”

Beatrice waddled toward the briar patch where she intended to stock up on the last of the juicy blackberries. “Ha! Rats!” she snorted. “This garden hasn’t seen a rat since we moved in and wiped them out. No rat in his right mind would dare to move here now.”

They all shook their heads sadly. “We can dream, can’t we?” sighed Henry. “I was hoping the construction around the corner would drive a few into our hands.”

“No, Bea is right,” said Silas. “Rats know better than to mess with us. I wouldn’t be surprised if word of our success has spread throughout the community and beyond.” Silas had a habit of bragging in an understated sort of way.

“You mean your success,” Bea murmured sarcastically.

Silas continued, “I remember that first night like it was yesterday. Three evil rats were just getting ready to take over our compost heap when I surprised them with a vicious hiss and showed my fiercely pointy teeth.” He showed his teeth to Henry and Bea, as if to illustrate just how fierce and pointy they were. His mouth sprang open like a hungry alligator. “I didn’t waste any time. As you know, rats can be quite slippery. I pounced on this one and then onto that one without any concern for my own safety. It was a bloody battle if I do say so myself!”

“And the third rat?” asked Henry, awestruck by the story, though he had heard it many times.

“Yes, tell us about the third rat, Silas, you fearless rat-slayer, you!” Bea prompted with a blackberry stained smirk on her face.

Silas coughed and cleared his throat. Whipping his tail around, he showed Henry the nasty scar for the hundredth time. “The third rat bit me, mangy cretin that he was. I call this my ‘Scar from Battle Har’, and it is my solemn vow to get even with him one day.”

“Why do you call it ‘Battle Har’?” asked Henry.

“’Cause that’s what the rat said afterwards… Har! Har! Har!” quipped Beatrice.

“Say what you like but this war is far from over!”

Beatrice rolled her eyes and went back to plucking blackberries, most of which she ate.

Cocoa, the opossum that was so named because of his unusual light brown coat and love of all things chocolate, lumbered over to the group and sat down with a grunt. “I’m so very tired of eating vegetables night after night! Don’t these folks ever throw away a nice piece of cake?”

Bea answered, “What about that candy wrapper I got you last week?”

“I’ve licked it clean three times over,” moaned Cocoa, surveying the compost heap with disdain. “It lost its flavor after the first swipe, but I kept hoping I had missed a spot.”

“Miss a spot? You?” Bea looked pointedly at his rotund body. “That would be a first.”

A rustle emerged from the edge of the woods and all four opossums turned quickly to see the intruder. It was only Pinky and her brother Sam. They were the orphans who had recently joined their clan after their mother had been killed by a car while crossing the street.

“You frightened us,” said Henry, dramatically fanning himself with the top of a celery stalk. “There’s a cat that frequents this garden; you two best be careful.”

“And announce yourselves before darting into the moonlight,” agreed Cocoa. “I nearly fainted when I heard you coming!”

“Sorry!” Pinky and Sam cried in unison.

“Don’t be such a pack of lily-livered scaredy-pusses!” thundered Silas to the rest of them, and then turned his kindly eyes toward the cowering youngsters. “There’s nothing to fear when I’m on patrol.”

“You’re no match for a hungry cat,” noted Beatrice.

Silas bared his teeth again and said in a voice just loud enough to be heard within their small group, “I’m not afraid of cats, rats or bats! Bring ‘em on!”

“Bring ‘em on,” muttered Bea under her breath. “He’d be the first to keel over.”

Pinky and Sam giggled and followed her back to the briar patch where she shared her freshly plucked berries. “One for you, and one for you,” she said. “Watch the juice, don’t be messy!” The pair giggled again, taking in the sight of her purple-stained face.

“Oh, looky what I found!” sang Henry from the top of the heap. Using his tiny shovel he unearthed a crust of toast smeared with egg yolk.

“Is it cake?” asked Cocoa hopefully.

“Not cake, ol’ boy, but not vegetable either.” He took a sample nibble and then popped the rest into his greedy mouth.

“Well, what is it then?” persisted Cocoa, his excitement mounting, but making no effort to budge from his comfortable spot.

“It’s gone, that’s what it is,” observed Silas with contempt.

“You can’t begrudge a fella a little midnight snack,” protested Henry, wiping his whiskers in satisfaction. “Besides, Cocoa, if you’re so interested in what’s in this heap climb up here and help me.”

“He’s got a point,” grumbled Silas, poking his stick in the soft pile.

“I’m tired,” Cocoa moaned.

“He’s fat, that’s what he is,” whispered Bea to Pinky and Sam.

“I heard that, Beatrice!” Cocoa shouted. “I’m NOT fat, I’m plump.”

“Plump as a beach ball,” she shot back.

“Well, look at you! You’re not exactly a string bean! Hmmm… String bean… Say, Henry, any crisp string beans up there?”

Henry threw down his wilted celery stalk knocking Cocoa on the ear and said, “You’ll have to make do with this. It’s like I’m standing in a bowl of salad tonight.” No sooner did Henry say the word “salad” did he slip on a greasy piece of lettuce and slid all the way down the heap, landing soundly into Cocoa’s soft belly.

Cocoa grunted and rolled over, which caused Pinky and Sam to erupt into fresh giggles. Even Beatrice laughed to see the two of them lying in a tangle.

“Ooof! Get off of me!” cried Cocoa. “Oh, my tail!”

Henry managed to free himself from Cocoa, whose tail was crushed beneath his massive bottom upon impact.

“Sorry, dear fellow,” said Henry as he made his way back up the heap. “That was sort of fun, I must admit. Felt kinda like skiing.”

“How on earth would you know about skiing?” asked Bea, exasperated with all their bragging.

“I know plenty about skiing! Don’t you remember last December when this compost heap was coated in ice? I was the only one brave enough –“

“Foolish enough,” interjected Beatrice.

“Hungry enough,” added Cocoa.

Henry ignored them, “—to scale to the treacherous top while the rest of you slept snug in your beds. With trusty shovel and burlap sack in hand I gracefully surfed to the bottom like an Olympian!”

“What’s an Olympian?” asked Sam.

Beatrice answered before Henry got off on another self-congratulatory rant, “A nincompoop, I’d say, ‘cause that’s just what Henry is, though I would hardly use the word ‘graceful’ after witnessing that last episode.”

Henry snarled in her direction, “While we’re on the subject of gracefulness, Beatrice, why don’t you share your recent swimming experience with the children?”

Bea’s face turned red with rage. “There’s nothing to tell!”

“Oh, but there is!” Henry said gleefully. “You see, children, Beatrice got the brilliant idea that she would wash the blackberry stains from her face so that no one would know she had been gorging herself again.”

“That’s not true!” protested Bea.

Henry persisted, “So she leaned into the stream, forgetting what a big, fat, berry-filled lummox she is, lost her balance and fell all the way in, face first!”

Cocoa jiggled with mirth as he remembered the sight of Beatrice swirling down stream, calling for help. “Unfortunately Beatrice swims like a rock.”

“What happened?” asked Pinky in horror at the thought of falling into the rushing water.

“Silas fished her out with his stick!” Henry said triumphantly.

Although Silas loved the stories that depicted him as a hero, he felt the need as the elder opossum to put a stop to their silly feud. “Beatrice thanked me very much for that,” he said.

“How remarkable,” said Henry. “I didn’t think the word was in her vocabulary.”

“You be quiet,” growled Bea, starting for the heap, “before I knock you gracefully from the top of that garbage pile!”

“And miss this sumptuous treat I just uncovered?” Henry asked, dangling something playfully in her direction.

“What is it?” she hissed.

“Yes, what is it?” asked Cocoa desperately.

“Just a tasty blackberry pie crust,” said Henry, swaying it before them like a pendulum.

“Me! Throw it to me, please!” beseeched Cocoa in agony, finally struggling to his chubby feet.

“Go on and throw it to Cocoa,” Bea said bitterly. “You owe him that much after smashing his poor tail.”

“Yes, my poor tail!”

Henry tossed it toward Cocoa, but Beatrice leapt to catch it in mid-air, popping the entire segment into her mouth. “Mmm, mmm! Thank you, Henry!” she said sarcastically. “See? Thank you is indeed in my vocabulary!”

“Oh dear,” said Cocoa, plopping down again. “I was really looking forward to that.”

Henry stared at Beatrice in disbelief. Silas was amazed that Beatrice could move so quickly.

Just then a high-pitched howl came from the edge of the trees and everyone froze in terror. Petula raced into the clearing, her face wet with tears. “My locket! It’s gone!” she shrieked.