Sam squiggled to the left and then squirmed to the right. He had been dreading answering Silas’s questions, and now here he was, on the hot seat.
“Pinky?” he asked, as if he had never heard of her.
“Pinky.” Silas intoned.
“Your sister,” Curly prompted.
“Oh, that Pinky!” said Sam, and all of the opossums chuckled toward each other, as if a great confusion had been settled.
“Well, let me see…” said Sam, stalling for time, hoping his sister would burst into the warren at any second, the turnip necklace slung triumphantly about her neck.
Presently Cocoa stood up and cleared his throat importantly. All the opossums turned their attention to him. “I think this occasion calls for a poem,” he stated.
Daisy started to clap her hands until she noticed the withering glare from Beatrice. “Don’t encourage him,” she hissed angrily and Daisy sat on her hands obediently.
Cocoa waddled to the middle of the room and gave Sam a tender smile. “I’ve entitled this poem ‘Thankful Indeed’,” he said and cleared his throat again. The opossums bowed their heads solemnly as they were genuinely thankful to have Sam back safely.
“Here we live in our warren so snug
Sometimes we’re lucky when we find a nice bug.
Sometimes we’re lucky if there’s fruit to be got
Or out in the garden when the vegetables rot.
Each night we search for that tidbit sublime
Hoping for cake or piecrust -- divine!
But today I am thankful for a lovely new treat,
It’s something so heavenly, which I love to eat.
I’m talking about tarts smeared with blueberry jam
And for those I am thankful, in-deed I am!”
Curly jumped to his feet and clapped enthusiastically, “Bravo, Cocoa! Bravo!”
“Oh brother,” groaned Beatrice, rolling her eyes.
“One track minded bozo!” shouted Daisy, hurling the crust from her tart at Cocoa’s head.
“What sort of nonsense was that?” asked Henry. “We thought you were going to recite a poem to honor Sam’s return!”
“A poem about Sam?” asked Cocoa in disbelief. “He’s hardly a tasty treat.”
“Of course he’s not a tasty treat, you loon!” growled Beatrice. “If there’s something to be thankful for it’s that your poem was short.”
“Thankful indeed!” added Daisy sarcastically.
“Sit back down so Sam can tell us about Pinky,” said Petula.
The opossums turned back to Sam who had hoped that everyone had forgotten the previous inquisition. Now he felt his stomach churning again and said meekly, “I think I ate too much spaghetti this morning. May I please be excused?”
“Make way for the lad,” thundered Silas noticing that Sam suddenly had a very green look about him. “I think he’s going to be sick!”
“It was probably that stupid poem,” said Daisy to Beatrice.
“Don’t listen to those ol’ sour pusses, what do they know about art?” said Curly as Cocoa plopped back down, patting his shoulder. “Your poem was simply brilliant. I especially liked the part about the warren being snug. You summed it up beautifully!”
“No one else seemed to like it,” moaned the crestfallen Cocoa.
“Don’t be silly! Daisy obviously liked it – she threw you a piece of tart,” said Curly, handing the mashed segment to Cocoa.
“Well, so she did, so she did!” said Cocoa happily, stuffing it into his mouth.
Sam raced out the left entrance into the sunlight and breathed a sigh of relief. He scanned the back garden for Pinky but only saw the little boy playing quietly in his sandbox.
“Pinky?” he asked, as if he had never heard of her.
“Pinky.” Silas intoned.
“Your sister,” Curly prompted.
“Oh, that Pinky!” said Sam, and all of the opossums chuckled toward each other, as if a great confusion had been settled.
“Well, let me see…” said Sam, stalling for time, hoping his sister would burst into the warren at any second, the turnip necklace slung triumphantly about her neck.
Presently Cocoa stood up and cleared his throat importantly. All the opossums turned their attention to him. “I think this occasion calls for a poem,” he stated.
Daisy started to clap her hands until she noticed the withering glare from Beatrice. “Don’t encourage him,” she hissed angrily and Daisy sat on her hands obediently.
Cocoa waddled to the middle of the room and gave Sam a tender smile. “I’ve entitled this poem ‘Thankful Indeed’,” he said and cleared his throat again. The opossums bowed their heads solemnly as they were genuinely thankful to have Sam back safely.
“Here we live in our warren so snug
Sometimes we’re lucky when we find a nice bug.
Sometimes we’re lucky if there’s fruit to be got
Or out in the garden when the vegetables rot.
Each night we search for that tidbit sublime
Hoping for cake or piecrust -- divine!
But today I am thankful for a lovely new treat,
It’s something so heavenly, which I love to eat.
I’m talking about tarts smeared with blueberry jam
And for those I am thankful, in-deed I am!”
Curly jumped to his feet and clapped enthusiastically, “Bravo, Cocoa! Bravo!”
“Oh brother,” groaned Beatrice, rolling her eyes.
“One track minded bozo!” shouted Daisy, hurling the crust from her tart at Cocoa’s head.
“What sort of nonsense was that?” asked Henry. “We thought you were going to recite a poem to honor Sam’s return!”
“A poem about Sam?” asked Cocoa in disbelief. “He’s hardly a tasty treat.”
“Of course he’s not a tasty treat, you loon!” growled Beatrice. “If there’s something to be thankful for it’s that your poem was short.”
“Thankful indeed!” added Daisy sarcastically.
“Sit back down so Sam can tell us about Pinky,” said Petula.
The opossums turned back to Sam who had hoped that everyone had forgotten the previous inquisition. Now he felt his stomach churning again and said meekly, “I think I ate too much spaghetti this morning. May I please be excused?”
“Make way for the lad,” thundered Silas noticing that Sam suddenly had a very green look about him. “I think he’s going to be sick!”
“It was probably that stupid poem,” said Daisy to Beatrice.
“Don’t listen to those ol’ sour pusses, what do they know about art?” said Curly as Cocoa plopped back down, patting his shoulder. “Your poem was simply brilliant. I especially liked the part about the warren being snug. You summed it up beautifully!”
“No one else seemed to like it,” moaned the crestfallen Cocoa.
“Don’t be silly! Daisy obviously liked it – she threw you a piece of tart,” said Curly, handing the mashed segment to Cocoa.
“Well, so she did, so she did!” said Cocoa happily, stuffing it into his mouth.
Sam raced out the left entrance into the sunlight and breathed a sigh of relief. He scanned the back garden for Pinky but only saw the little boy playing quietly in his sandbox.
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