The morning progresses well and I quickly discover he is a bit of a master on the syringe by now. He's quite a strong little guy and during the night my confidence grew with each feed. I think he is going to make it, and I now believe I can help him along the way.
I still don't know what sex he or she is, but for blogging purposes, I am going to make an uneducated guess and call him a he. He slept really well through the night and it didn't take much for me to notice that he loves getting the top of his head rubbed. I am happy to oblige.
After each feed, I gently massage his little body and he goes right off to sleep. I continue to feed him every two hours through today. He is just gorgeous and my heart fills with love for him. How could you not fall in love with such a precious little honey?
By afternoon he is quite the expert on the syringe and I somehow get the impression that he loves his food. He drinks about 1.5ml of diluted Carnation milk each feed.
I did some more reading on the Internet about possums and I am confident he is definitely a ringtail possum. An odd feeling begins to invade my space. I am beginning to feel very torn and uneasy with whom I should notify about this little guy. I really want to do what's best for him, but deep inside, I know this is his home and he should remain here. Oh, I don't know! This is not very easy.
I feel very protective. I want to speak to someone whom I can trust to help me make the right decision for him. I've done a lot of thinking since yesterday and realise this situation is not so cut and dried.
Some deep thought needs to go into this little guy's situation. I am thinking of the big picture. Willow Pond is his home. When he grows up, he is meant to be here. It's his birthright and there is no reason why he shouldn't remain here.
If I could find a mentor I know that I could raise him well. I'd certainly give it my best shot. I'm not silly. I know I could never raise a possum by myself. I know I'd need some help.
Now it was up to me to find someone. I'd have to think about this some more.
Another problem is - I don't have a permit.
After doing further reading I discover that you need a permit to raise wildlife. Well, that makes sense and I don't have a problem with that. Now I need to sign up to be a wildlife carer. That can't be too hard now, can it?
By afternoon, I decide to weigh the little guy. I use my digital kitchen scales. He weighs 59 grams. He is so little and there's not much to him.
His fur is smooth and shiny. I now know for sure from my latest reading, he is not what they call a 'pinky' (furless). Judging from the information, I take a guess that he is between 110 - 115 days old. Ringtails apparently don't get to grow too big.
Some more interesting information I discover is that I need to wipe his bottom gently with a tissue after he eats to encourage him to go to the toilet. I used to have to do this with Kayla's three puppies when I had to take over raising them after Kayla developed severe mastitis. You don't need to rub hard. It is more a tickle with the tissue.
I tried this the next time I fed him, however, it was a little tricky and awkward and in the end I wasn't sure I'd been very successful.
During the evening he becomes decidedly more active. I found a cute basket to make a bed for him in it. When it was time for me to go to bed I carried him upstairs in the basket and set him down on my bedside table, all tucked in for the night. His last feed had been at 12:30am and I was ready to hit the sack. I set the alarm for 2:30am and turned out the lights.
At about 12:20am I awoke to a sound that was not familiar. My brain finally identified the sound as one that comes from the little guy. I'd heard him make it before. The problem was that it didn't seem to be coming from the basket. It was coming from somewhere else in the room.
I got up carefully and turned on the light and dimmed it right down. The little guy was not in his basket and nor was Ian in bed. Ian, I discovered was in the bathroom. I knew I'd need to be careful about where I put my feet. I could still hear the little high pitched sound he was making. I made my way down towards to bottom of the bed and there he was, sitting in the middle of the floor and no doubt, very scared. I can believe that he escaped the sleeping puppies - again, and that Ian hadn't trod on him on the way to the bathroom. Once again his skin had been saved.
I pick him up and he bit me lightly on my forefinger. Cheeky! It didn't hurt, but it is always a surprise when he bites. He has bitten me a couple of times now. I'm a little awkward holding him yet, but I am getting better.
I collect his basket and make our way downstairs. It is now time for some milk. I quickly get everything ready and soon he is tucking in well. He is a spirited little guy.
Now I had to come up with a plan to contain him. I ended up using my netting throw that I use to cover food on the dining table to protect from nasty flies, etc. I spread it over the basket and secured it well. We climbed the stairs after I cleaned up the possum's things and I put the basket back on the bedside table. I left the light on dimmer and laid down and watched to see what would happen next.
I didn't have to wait long for a small silhouette to appear out of his bed. He spent a little bit of time climbing all around the basket inside of the netting, but then he when he discovered he couldn't escape, he burrowed back down into his covers and his hidey hole. Such a cutie.
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