Who says life in the suburbs is dull? The house was just disturbed by horror-movie sound effects (similar to screams, but not quite) coming from the back yard. It woke up Kate and drowned out “L.A. Confidential,” requiring an extra tuck-in, soothing and an investigation.
I watched from an open second-floor window, as the sound of claws scrabbling on bark came closer and closer and CLOSER and…
…a really, really fat raccoon waddled out of the hedge and disappeared into the neighbor’s yard.
Must have been what got into the garbage last night while it sat at the curb. Laid into a bag of stale hamburger buns and spread the mess across the park strip. It reminded me of the night two raccoons crashed through the ceiling during the dinner rush at the Mexican restaurant where I worked one summer. The owner, when I called him to report this news, insisted I was mistaken: “A raccoon is a wild animal. They don’t live in cities.”
Why should they, when they can eat your stale tortillas out of the dumpster?
Where did I read this — a Gretel Erlich story, or somewhere else? It was about researchers who conclusively proved some Alaska ravens were flying 30 miles or so from their night roost to a Juneau McDonald’s, to plunder french fries from the parking lot. They flew back to the roost at night and were, essentially, going to and from work.
I want a pet raven. Or a crow. I always have. I want to walk around with it on my shoulder and feed it the occasional grub. And I’d sic it on raccoons.
Can you tell I’m feeling a bit loopy? Long day, not much to report. We’ll try again tomorrow.
No, wait, there’s this: I was mostly right about the “terrorism” at Georgia Tech yesterday. Huh.