There’s a raccoon in my chimney.
A big, fat, pregnant raccoon that looks ready to burst and is soon going to fill my chimney chock-full of baby raccoons. Sh*t! Sh*t!! Sh*t!!! As*hole raccoons. Oh, how I hate you! DIE! No. Don’t die. That would make me sad. Think of the babies. LEAVE! Yeah. Just leave my chimney and never return.
Please leave my chimney. Please.
My problem with raccoons goes back to the mid-nineties. I was awaken one night by a unholy rattling somewhere outside my room. I jumped out of bed, turned on the lights and searched and searched and searched. Nothing. Zip. Huh? Okay. Okay. Back to bed. About a hour later, RATTLE! RATTLE! RATTLE! WTF!? I get out of bed, I DON’T turn on the lights, but grab a flashlight and slurk over to area that is the source of the rattle. My fireplace! And what do I see staring out at me? A sh*tload of shiny eyes! A momma raccoon and a crap-load of younguns.
Die! Paat! Die!
And they are shaking the glass on the fireplace cover. Dammit! NO! They are trying to get me! Go away! Go Away! Panicked I wedge my rowing machine against the fireplace cover and spent the rest of the dark night cowering in bed, sure that they would break through and tear my throat out.
Please let us in. Please!
Come morning I’m still alive and the raccoons are gone. I climb on the roof to cap the chimney and see the whole evil family wandering down an alley to scavenge the flesh off of some other poor soul.
Alive! I'm still alive!
That was the last of my raccoon troubles until several months ago when I got a 3:00 am call from my mom, “there’s a raccoon in my house. Can you come over and help me?”
Hello Mrs. Kelly. That's quite the fine hat you have.
Raccoon! Now I’m thinking the worst. That momma raccoon, after 16 years, has tracked me down and is after my mom. I rush over to save her and the house looks, um, alright. It is neat and clean and my mom is still alive. Not how I pictured a raccoon home invasion. Mom tells me , “I woke up and the raccoon was at the end of the couch starring at me. I told it to go away and it wandered off into the house.” Okay. I start to think that maybe the old gal has dreamed up the whole thing but I take a look around just to humor her and see that the fireplace cover is slightly out of place, still nothing looks like a vermin has broke in. I search the rest of the house and can’t find anything. No signs of raccoons. Now I now know she’s lost it but tell her it must have escaped out the fireplace, you know, just to ease her crazy mind and head home.
The next day she calls again and tells me that it came back soon after I left and stared at her some more and it is still in the house. No way. I go back, open all the doors, so it can leave if it so chooses, and double my search from a few hours earlier. There are a few things out of disturbed but they can all be explained by an old women wandering around her house at night. The kitchen is untouched. I can find no raccoon in her house.
I tell her I believe her and it might have left through one of the open doors. She gives me the stink-eye, she knows I think she’s lost it and does not appreciate my opinion on the matter, and I leave once again.
An hour later and she calls again. It’s back. I head over. My brother Brian heads over. My dad Bob heads over. My nephew Christian and Annelise head over. If there is a raccoon in that house we are going to find it. And find it we do. It is a young one and it has hidden itself in a room with scores and scores of dolls ( Kind of like that space monkey E.T. hiding among the stuffed animals so George Lucas wouldn’t kill him). It was scared and did not want to leave its new home. Long story long, it took us about a hour and all the MacGyver skills we could muster, but we finally chased it out the front door to freedom. Christian and I then capped her chimney and that was that.
Until tonight…
Sleep tight Paat.
