Why Possum’s Tail Is Bare

Long, long ago, when the animals still talked to one another, Possum had a long, fluffy tail. It was silvery and as soft as a little cloud. And it was so beautiful that Possum himself could never stop admiring it.

Every morning he sat down by the stream and combed his tail with his paws. Once, twice, three times, until every hair lay just so. Then he lifted it high like a flag and strolled through the forest, singing:

“Look at my tail, just look at my tail! There’s none so fine anywhere!”

He showed it off to everyone he met.

“Did you see it, Squirrel? Yours is red, but mine is like a little cloud.”

“I saw, I saw,” grumbled Squirrel, and she hopped up to a higher branch.

“And you, Turtle? Did you see it?”

“A hundred times,” sighed Turtle, and she pulled her head into her shell.

But that little song bothered Rabbit most of all. You see, Rabbit had no tail of his own, just a stubby little stump. How that happened is another story, one about Bear. So every time Possum floated past with his little cloud, Rabbit wrinkled his nose.

“What a show-off,” he whispered. “Just you wait.”

Then one day the animals decided to hold a great celebration with dancing. Rabbit’s job was to go all through the forest and invite everyone. Hop, hop, to Bear’s. Hop, hop, to Deer’s. And then on to Possum’s hollow tree.

“Possum, will you come to the celebration?”

Possum stroked his tail and answered very grandly:

“I’ll come. But only if I get a special seat. The very best one. So everyone can see my tail.”

“You’ll have your seat,” Rabbit promised. “And what’s more, I’ll send someone over in the morning to comb your tail until it shines. So it sparkles at the dance.”

Possum squeezed his eyes shut with delight.

“Now that’s more like it! Send them over.”

Rabbit darted into the bushes and bounded straight to Cricket. Now, in that forest Cricket was the master barber. Snip-snip went his little legs, and Raccoon’s hair was neat and even. Snip-snip, and Deer’s beard was trim and tidy.

“Cricket,” whispered Rabbit, “I’ve got a job for you. A very special one.”

And he whispered in Cricket’s ear for a long, long time. Cricket listened and listened. Then he chirped so merrily that a blade of grass trembled.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Oh, will I ever!”

The next morning Cricket knocked at Possum’s hollow.

“Rabbit sent me. To comb your tail.”

“Come in, come in!” cried Possum happily. He lay down on the moss, stretched out his tail and closed his eyes. “Only be careful. This is the finest tail in the forest.”

“I know, I know,” said Cricket.

He took a long red thread and began winding it around the tail, from the very tip all the way up to Possum’s back. Round and round and round.

“This keeps the fur lying smooth until evening,” he explained. “So it won’t fluff up or get tangled.”

“Clever,” purred Possum.

And Cricket wound the thread. And quietly, right down at the roots, he snipped: snip-snip, snip-snip. Wind and snip. Wind and snip. Possum got so cozy and drowsy that he dozed right off. He heard nothing and saw nothing.

“All done,” Cricket said at last. “Now listen carefully. Don’t take off the thread until the dancing starts. Then unwind it, and everyone will gasp.”

“They’ll gasp,” Possum repeated happily.

All day long he walked through the forest with his tail wrapped in red thread, smiling to himself. Whenever anyone asked:

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

Possum just winked:

“You’ll see tonight.”

Evening came. The animals lit a big bonfire in the clearing. Sparks flew up to the stars, and the drums went boom-boom, boom-boom. The animals gathered in a circle. And in the very best spot, on a soft little carpet of leaves, sat Possum. Rabbit had kept his word.

Everyone took turns dancing. Deer danced lightly, leaping high. Bear danced heavily, waddling from side to side until the ground rumbled. At last it was Possum’s turn.

He stood up, unwound the red thread, tossed it aside and stepped into the middle. The drums beat louder. And Possum strutted around the circle, singing:

“Look at my tail, just look at my tail!”

All the animals began to shout! Possum beamed. “Oh, how they love it!” He kept going and lifted his tail even higher:

“See how lovely it is! See how it shines!”

The animals shouted even louder. And then they started to laugh. Bear roared, holding his belly. Deer laughed so hard he had to sit down. Squirrel nearly fell off her branch. Even Turtle poked her head out of her shell and giggled.

Possum stopped. “What’s gotten into them?” He turned his head and looked at his tail.

He couldn’t even recognize it. No little cloud, no silver. Not a single hair! It was bare and pink and skinny, like a lizard’s.

Possum opened his mouth to say something, and he couldn’t. He felt so ashamed that his ears rang. His legs gave way. He flopped onto his back in the middle of the clearing, curled up into a ball and lay perfectly still. Only his lips stretched into a funny, bewildered grin, as if any moment now he might start laughing at himself.

The fur on possums' tails never grew back after that. And whenever something takes a possum by surprise, he still flops onto his back, lies perfectly still and grins that odd little grin, exactly the way he did that night at the celebration.