On a lighter note:
Possum, wanting to be Wanted.
It's interesting to discover what cats don't understand. Possum had thought that being on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List was a desirable thing. It was practically the first he'd heard of it, at the charming age of 21 months. He wants everyone to want him. He would be happy to have the entire FBI longing to find him, pet him, play with him, and especially feed him. I spent a while explaining why he shouldn't wish to be on that list, because we want to put those people away in "crates" for life. He has a logical mind, so he wanted to know why it isn't called, "The Ten Most Unwanted."
"Believe me, Possum," I said, "You don't ever want to be on the same list with Whitey Bulger."
"I don't care what color he is, or how bulgy or out-of-shape," said Possum, "Cats don't care at all whether the other fellow is fat, skinny, white, ginger, tabby, mackerel-striped, spotted, or buff with chocolate points. I may happen to be extraordinarily handsome, myself, but it's no credit to me. It's just the fur you happen to be born with — everybody knows that. We bite each other and hiss for other reasons."
"That's not my point," I said (secretly agreeing that he is exceedingly handsome). "Like everyone else on that list, Whitey Bulger is a wicked criminal. He is a murderer, and he stole, and he terrorized whole Boston neighborhoods."
"Well, I don't know," said Possum. "He sounds like he'd have made an excellent tom cat, as long as he went after rats, primarily. I wonder what sort of things he'd steal... probably doughnuts, I hear they are very good, especially in the family-owned bakeries of East Boston and Somerville. You might bring a few home to me sometime. I am putting the jelly kind on my personal Ten Most Wanted List," said Possum, showing his aptitude for roaming far off the subject.
Home-schooling is a never-ending job. I left it to our righteous calico, Wendy, to explain feline nutrition to her brother, and tried to go to sleep. Possy's lapses may surprise me, but I can't blame him since I'm his teacher. And I often get things wrong, too, that everyone else knows. For decades, I thought that the patties at Fat Burger restaurants were made out of fat. "Who'd eat those?" I'd wonder.