Raccoon Love

I am finally ready to tell the tale of my raccoon (or as I have come to call her, the other woman). It all started four weeks ago when the lovely gentlemen I hired to put new siding on my house ripped into the chiminey and found HER. Oh, and her five babies, eyes not yet open. I had known about a raccoon which had visited last year and a few hundred dollars later had been trapped and moved to another part of the state. Only to return a few weeks later with a vengence. But then winter came and she was gone.


But here she was. Maybe the same raccoon, maybe different. But no matter, a mother none the less. I wish those intrepid workers had moved her babies away from the house (you can touch them and they will still take care of the babies.)

She lived there for three noisy weeks. At some point, critter control found her babies and rescued them (for a measley $499.99). Apparently, there are people in the world who enjoy raising up baby raccoons and then setting them free (probably to come back to torture those who live in the house where they were born but that is yet to be seen.)

She made noise. She taunted me. She chewed her way into my game closet and peed all over A's kindergarten art work which was stored there. She peed on my games. She peed on my pictures. My life turned into smelly raccoon pee.

And we tried to trap her. Live traps of course. She played with them at night. Knocking them around with her nose or paws, banging on the roof right over my bed. I turned into a crazy woman who took to yelling "you're ruining my life" at her whenever I heard her. No response from her, of course. But I could swear I heard raccoon chuckling as I was fading to sleep each night.

And then my friend Jana gave me an idea. And I did it. One night, just before bed, I opened that closet door and yelled: "Raccoon mama, I have a friend named Jana. And she has a friend who has a gun. If you don't find your way into my trap so I can re-locate you peacefully, I'm going to have him come and remove you himself." I didn't tell her what he would do with the gun. I figured she would probably know.

I was bluffing of course. Sort of. I don't believe in guns. But, really, I don't believe in raccoon pee either. Turns out, however, they both exist.

She was in the trap the next morning. No joke.

Happy mother's day mama. And to all you mothers who have to pee in someone else's closet just to get by, here's hoping you find freedom, sunshine, and a home of your own.