Tree Kangaroo

On being a Tree Kangaroo

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Hi there! I’m Ombom, a male Matschie’s tree kangaroo. Many people have never even heard of a kangaroo that sits in a tree, so kindly allow me to paint you a picture, starting with where we live. Even though we’re just a little south of the equator, our cloud forest home is cloaked in cool mist.  The trees are covered in flowering vines, and both are carpeted with thick green moss.  

If you look up quickly enough, you might be lucky enough to spy one of us silently observing you from a hidden treetop perch.  But the minute you see us, we’re gone! We’re famously elusive, which is why humans dubbed us the “ghosts of the forest.”

If you did manage to spot one of us, you’d probably think we look like a ridiculously adorable stuffed animal that somehow came to life. Our fur is impossibly soft and thick — perfect for chilly cloud-forest weather — with curly whorls along our backs that help rain slide right off. Fully grown, we’re about 32 inches (81 centimeters) long, with a luxurious 24-inch (60-centimeter) tail that doubles as a balance pole. I weigh around 20 pounds (nine kilograms), which puts me somewhere between “small dog” and “large house cat,” depending on your pet situation.

But I didn’t start out this fabulous.

I was born just like other members of the kangaroo family: roughly the size of a jellybean.  No fur.  No vision. And I had to crawl from Mom’s birth canal to her pouch, a journey that took about two minutes and deserves way more recognition than it gets. Once inside, I latched onto a teat and stayed put for the next several months.  Mom groomed me often and cleaned her pouch, usually by putting her whole head in with me.

At six months old, I put in my first public appearance by poking my head out of the pouch.  It was a rather short-lived event that day.  But gradually, as I continued to grow, I gazed at the world for longer and longer periods until I took a literal leap of faith and temporarily exited the pouch when I was but a wee 7-month-old tyke.  Mom was high in the trees, so I had to execute my dismount carefully, but my new view was breathtaking.

For the next three months, I lived the best of both worlds – hopping in and out of the pouch.  By ten months, I traded my cozy quarters to follow Mom very closely.  I was still nursing, albeit from my new external vantage point.  At thirteen months, the milk bar closed.  Tragic, but fair.    

I stayed with Mom for a while longer, learning the finer points of adult tree kangaroo life, such as climbing, foraging, and snoozing.  But by the time I was two years old, I was ready for my independence.  Like all tree kangaroos my age, I left Mom’s territory to seek my own slice of forest.

As an adult, I value my alone time.  My territory is roughly the size of four baseball fields – that’s eleven acres (four and a half hectares) if you want to be precise about it.  My turf overlaps with several females’ ranges, which are smaller at four and a half acres (two hectares) and do not overlap with each other. We carefully mark our boundaries with scent using the gland in our chest to officially tell others to keep out.

We’re all a bit possessive of our ranges and males like me will fight other males that intrude upon our solitude.  We can get aggressive with each other and settle matters by lying on our sides and using our forelimbs to box while biting at our opponent.

Luckily, I don’t see trespassers often.  Instead, most of my time is spent in a tree.  Given my druthers, I’ll be at least 100 feet (30 meters) above ground. You’ll often find me curled up on the branches, with my head tucked below my shoulders, snoozing both day and night.  All total, I spend 14-15 hours a day like this.  I tend to fall asleep in whatever tree I happen to find myself in when the sleepies take over. Planning is so overrated!

Although I do spend a lot of time snoozing, I wake up every few hours to snack. Mature leaves are my favorite, but I’ll also eat ferns, mosses, fruits, nuts, the occasional insect and potentially even birds’ eggs or very small birds.  All told, I will spend hours each day foraging.

I also sometimes scamper down to the forest floor while I’m noshing. When I do find myself grounded, I may also take a few drinks if there’s water nearby. Most of my hydration comes from my diet, though, so sipping water doesn’t happen every day. But in all honesty, the ground isn’t my best look.  I tend to be rather slow and clumsy when I’m moving around there so I’m always relieved to climb back up!

I am so much more graceful when I’m in the trees!  I spring two to three feet (one meter) straight up, grab the tree with my forepaws and hop upward like a pro. Like other species that spend their time in the trees, my rubbery footpads and curved claws both help me grip the bark.  And when I need to get to another tree without going back to the ground, it’s no problem at all. I can easily jump 30 feet (nine meters) to an adjoining tree.

And so, my life moved forward.  When I reached four and a half years old, I also began to take an interest in the lady tree kangaroos.  I woo them by clicking my tongue, although my actions more often elicit a growl and a swat.  The object of my attentions will protest me thusly for the next ten minutes, but then we touch noses, click at each other a few more times, and the magic happens.  A month and a half later, just like me when I was born, our joey crawls to mom’s pouch to start their own tree kangaroo journey.

And that’s life — quiet, leafy, lofty, and topped off with a unique mixture of marsupial traits and features shared by tree dwelling mammals. If you need me, I’ll be in a tree. Probably asleep.