While we've had competitions for this honor in other years, the other cats voted unanimously recently to induct Possum into the Groundhog Facsimile Hall of Fame and for some reason he acquiesced. He is indeed our best rodent stand-in by far, judging by his shape (paunchy, flabby) and demeanor: suspicious and cranky upon hearing polka music but resigned to the rest of our brief ceremony.
I took this one as he was telling me to turn off that damn song.
They say that if the groundhog doesn't see his shadow, spring will come early and, if he does, we'll have six more weeks of winter. This is bunk designed to anaesthetize the masses, as you and I know. No matter what the groundhog sees, or doesn't see, you're stuck with up to 12 more weeks of winter here in New England, although you can reduce that if you take the groundhog's advice and go to Florida. The groundhog spent December and January there, and got a nice tan. Now he just wants to be left alone in his burrow, which he has stocked with Pennsylvania Dutch whoopie pies, funny cake, shoe-fly pie, and other specialties that facilitate hibernation.
Hibernation is what I hope to do today, taking the groundhog's lead. But my husband, who left for work a little while ago in heavy, blowing snow, reported that Harris refused to eat his breakfast, so I need to investigate that first.