Spiritual Lives Of Possums

How did that go? asks Gaius.

I learned a few things, says Squattu.

Wait till I get out my notebook, says Gaius.

Don't forget both your pencils are broken, says Pierre-Louis.

Drat, says Gaius. Look for a sharpener will you.

All right, says Pierre-Louis.

Gaius gets out his notebook.

Shall I begin? asks Squattu.

Yes, says Gaius. A short version. What did they say?

They were knackered, says Squattu.

Did they say that was normal? asks Gaius.

Not directly, says Squattu, but I guessed it wasn't normal.

For what reason? asks Gaius.

They are not used to fighting with pencils beforehand, says Squattu.

I should have known, says Gaius. 

How could you have known? says Squattu. 

True, says Gaius. Anything else of interest?

Lots, says Squattu. They met up with Aunty and Uncle Possum. They found lerps and shared them.

Fascinating, says Gaius. 

He turns to Pierre-Louis, who is rummaging about in his back pack.

Any luck finding a sharpener?

No, says Pierre-Louis. Just an old apple core.

At worst I suppose I could write notes with that, says Gaius. Has it turned brown?

Yes, says Pierre-Louis, handing it over.

Go on, says Gaius, to Squattu.

The most interesting thing is who they worship, says Squattu.

Worship? says Gaius. There's a bombshell. Who?

A tree called Almighty Ada, says Squattu.

Ada, says Gaius. Why does that name ring a bell?

He uses the apple core to write in his notebook: ADA

At least he'll have some sort of record.

Why are you writing with an apple? asks Terence.

Needs must, says Gaius. Can you read it?

Terence looks at the word.

Is it .... APA? 

That is an A and that is an A, says Gaius, but that is not a P in the middle.

It looks like one, says Terence.

That is a smear, says Gaius. It is meant to be a D and the word is ADA. And according to Squattu, Ada is a tree worshipped by possums.

Not grandpa? says Terence.

No, says Gaius. Not everyone worships your grandpa.

Are you speaking of Marx? asks Pierre-Louis. Plenty of people admire him. I myself was very grateful when he gave us the blanket.

It wasn't his blanket to give, says Gaius. And in any case, this has nothing to do with the spiritual lives of possums.

Pierre-Louis is obliged to agree.