Once again, I must live my truth. Walt Disney did me dirty, and I may never forgive or forget. Nature is not to be trusted.
The day starts early at Seabolt Manor. I let my two tiny dogs (combined weight under 30 pounds) out on long leashes to do their business. This is generally around 5 a.m. or, as I like to call it, dark o’ clock.
I stand on the porch holding their leashes because I am a sissy. I want to let the dogs out on their very long leashes and watch them from the porch perch. I do not want to stand in the yard with them in the dark, in my pajamas.
On this day, like many before, I opened the door, flipped on the porch light, stepped out onto the porch with my two fluffy friends leading our pack, and we startled the BIGGEST possum I have ever seen in my life.This was a big back sort of possum.
The possum shot off the porch as if fired from a cannon, with my two blurs of tiny but VERY passionate pups hot on the tail. Trust me, in this case, Mr./Ms. Possum was DEFINITELY more scared than we were. This isn’t a lie like when Mr. Wonderful makes the same claim to me about bats. Bats are 100% not afraid of me. If I could fly blind, I would not be afraid of me either. Who is he trying to kid?
No worries for the safety of the possum safe and sound under the porch. The dogs were completely miffed. Through it all, Kai, our cat who does as he pleases, sat on the porch step, completely unbothered like the king that he is. His entire demeanor seemed to say “yeah, he comes over sometimes.” I started to feel terrible. Maybe he was an invited guest and we were just being rude?
I am a big fan of possums, so I hope the poor creature can forgive and forget. I calmed my dogs — and my heart rate — and went about my day.
Fast forward to dinnertime the same day. Mr. Wonderful called me out on the porch with the kind of hastily hissed request that said something exciting — and perhaps expensive — was afoot. He usually reserves “babe get out here!” for water where it should not be, something oozing, splintered wood, that sort of thing.
In this case, he called me out on the porch, lifted the lid of Kai’s cute little heated cozy cat house and staring back at us was a full-grown raccoon. That cute little bandit looked up at us, nose twitching, slowly blinking. They didn’t even seem particularly scared. It was more like “hey there, so … when’s dinner?”
Mr. Wonderful prodded the box with his foot. The raccoon blinked. I told it it could not stay “go on, go!” More blinking. It did not seem at all willing to leave. We were now at a standoff: Mr. Wonderful, me and this raccoon. The audacity.
Raccoons don’t wear masks because they are ashamed of breaking and entering — they wear them to look fabulous while doing it. All I know about raccoons is that I enjoy their literary and National Wildlife Federation affiliated ancestor, Ranger Rick.
Misled. Walt Disney in no way, or how, prepared me for this. I was led to believe animals were HELPFUL. Let me assure you that not a single bat, mouse, possum or raccoon around here has cooked, cleaned or turned a pumpkin into a carriage. I have been misled! The possums get a pass because they will eat ticks.
Kai, again, stood nearby. If a cat can shrug, he did. “Are you subletting?” I asked Kai. He, much like his roomie raccoon, blinked. Neither he, nor his little furry friend, seemed in a hurry to move.
So there I stood on my porch, in my pajamas, at bedtime.
“Sir, you do not have to go home but you cannot stay HERE” I said FIRMLY as if giving “last call” notice to nature.
I am not the raccoon whisperer, nor am I Dr. Doolittle. I cannot talk to most animals. Since cartoons never covered this, I have no idea how raccoon evictions proceed legally. Do we need to give notice or is “go on, git!” good enough?
