Our school scheduled a PTA meeting one cold and snowy winter night. My whole family would be attending, since Monty and I were now in the same school.
When we moved to Aledo, Monty and I began attending Frew School, a three-room country school not far from our house. In those days, before school districts consolidated and country schools disappeared, it was common to have several small country schools scattered throughout a district for farm families.
As an agricultural community, there were a lot of farm kids.
Mom helped us kids get ready while she and Dad were doing the same. They were both all dressed up — Dad in a sport coat and dress slacks, and Mom in a dress and high heels. Us kids wore clean school clothes.
Once Mom was satisfied that we were scrubbed, properly dressed, and didn’t have a hair out of place, it was time to leave.
There was about a foot of snow on the ground that night. Dad had scooped a path to the car earlier, since we didn’t have a garage.
He turned the outside light on as he went out ahead of us to warm up the car. Monty and I followed a few minutes later to give it time to warm.
The three of us were sitting in the car waiting for Mom to come out. When she did, she leaned over to pet the cat who was eating out of its bowl.
The “cat” looked up and hissed.
It wasn’t a cat. It was a possum.
It turned to look at her — and that’s when she realized two beady eyes were staring at her, attached to a face with a long pointed nose and rows of sharp teeth.
POSSUM! And the cat was nowhere to be found.
She went flying across the yard — in high heels — completely ignoring the path Dad had so thoughtfully dug, and made a new path of her own to the car.
By this time, Dad, Monty, and I were laughing, watching her mad rush to the car. Because the snow was deep and had a light crust on top, she had to lift her feet high with every step. It was a sight to see, for sure.
Breathless, she opened the car door and scrambled in, slamming it hard behind her.
We were still laughing. I’m not sure she appreciated it. She didn’t say much about it other than to tell us what happened. We could tell it really scared her.
Over the years, we brought this memory up occasionally. Time softened her sense of humor, and she could relate the story with a twinkle in her eye. She forgave us for laughing at her.
Funny thing is — we didn’t even own a cat. It belonged to the farm.
Through My Eyes, Gently 