The Further Adventuires Of Martin, My Pygmy Possum Vol. 1

I awake one fine spring Saturday with only one thing on my mind. It is not football season, and baseball is just wrapping up it's spring training. I have a great day planned with Martin, the pygmy possum I got from Papua New Guinea. Martin lives in a series of hamster tubes and tree forts I have constructed in my back yard, and boy does he live. Martin is an irrepressible scamp, always playing around with his friends, the squirrels and the finches. Every night Martin and I watch Jeopardy, and most of the time I let him win--but not by much!!

Well anyway, on this particular Saturday, Martin and I have made plans to to down to the park and scamper along the pathways, scaring the bejezus out of the children, because Martin can hiss and bite with the best of them. Then after a hearty meal of grubs and pollen (I have pizza!) we set off for the house.

Once back at the house, Martin runs outside to let his friends know he is back, and that no one better mess with his shit. Martin can be possessive. He takes the red line back indoors to meet me in the den. We call it the red line because his wonderful maze of tubes he can use to enter and exit the house are set up in the exact pattern of the Washington DC Metroline system. Red line to the den, Blue line to the kitchen if he wants a late night snack and and Orange line to Foggy Bottom and Georgetown University. HA HA! Just Kidding! The Blue line goes there also.

Martin likes the American League, with its Designated Hitters. Martin prefers the increased offensive capabilities this rule gives to a team. I prefer the Senior Circuit, the National League. I prefer a more traditional game with emphasis on smart base running and defense. As you can see, Martin and I don't see eye to prehensile tail on everything. We finally agree to watch my DVD's of the old Ellen show. Oh, how Martin loves to howl with laughter at a younger, yet still equally bald and perverse, Jeremy Piven. When will you ever learn, Spence Kovac?

By this time, Martin is getting kinda antsy. I ask him what is wrong. Oh, nothing, Martin says. Well, it takes some pulling but finally Martin tells me: He has a big date tonight, but is feeling a little bit guilty leaving me here all by myself on a Saturday night. That crazy nocturnal marsupial!! What a great guy. I tell him he is insane if he thinks he should break a hot date just to hang out with little old me. I've got plenty to do tonight. Those lanyards aren't going to weave themselves, just like a store bought Fourth of July wreath just doesn't have the same feeling that a homemade one does. Plus, Renee Zellweger is hosting Saturday Night Live, with musical guest Matchbox 20. I will just die if I miss those antics.

I fall asleep on the couch, glitter and red, white and blue bunting surrounding me, the sound of Andy Samberg and Renee Zellweger making all kinds of light about the current situation in North Korea coming at me from the television, knowing that I am the luckiest guy in the world to have such a great friend as Martin, my pygmy possum from Papua New Guinea.