Animals: Friend or Foe?

Yesterday we arrived home to a very friendly local stray cat. We have lots of local cats that are fed by people and eat heartily at the pier in warm weather. It hurt Fin's heart, though, so she made a plate of food for the cat and took it downstairs, but he had gone.


She was worried about him, though, so she took a bucket of water and left it on the porch for him. I asked her why she wrote her name on it and she said, "So that if the policeman sees the cat drinking out of it, he will know it is our cat now." I love Maggie and Charley in this pictures, saying, "You have two perfectly good cats right here, can we have the cat food?"


Also yesterday, she discovered that a raccoon had left us a smelly package and had dug up one of her seed pots. She was so angry. So, she built a raccoon trap.



As it was explained to me, the heart was drawn in the bottom of the box so that the raccoon would know it was a "good place". The pink tissues are bedding. The food and water are the draw. Apparently, the raccoon is supposed to go into the box to get the food then not be able to get back out because of the metal lid. The toy fishing rod is to get the top on and off. Looks fool proof to me! I am sure I will have pictures of the captured raccoon soon for you.

Oh, and I asked her what she would do with the raccoon if she caught it... "Feed it to Maggie" was the immediate and expected response.

Adventures With Bandit

Maybe this isn't the right way to start this tale. Then again, maybe it is.

I hate raccoons. Let me say that again. I HATE raccoons. Growing up in the country, I thought they were adorable. I rarely saw them. In the city, they are everywhere. I can't leave a bag of trash on the porch overnight because they rip into it. They ate every last vegetable from the container garden the first summer I was in my condo; the container garden that I planted by hauled tons of potting soil and supplies up the three flights of stairs. I even had a cigarette-smoking raccoon (that's a whole other story) living in my crawl space for months until we figured out how he was getting in.

Given my hatred of these way-better-in-pictures animals, perhaps I should have driven right past when I saw this on my way home...

a scrawny, stumbling baby raccoon.

But, I showed him to Fin, pulled up for a closer look, and then knew I couldn't just drive off because that little &#%&^@ would have ruined my whole, damn weekend. I called Nancy, Animal Rescuer, (Diego was unavailable) who told me which city agency to call, and I did.

We sat in the car, Popsicles melting, for almost an hour. The little vermin stumbled and shuffled along the side of this house, cleared a spot in a downspout to get some water, refused my offer of a perfectly nice banana because it wasn't organic or something. Fin drew a very helpful map she insisted upon showing the animal control officer when they arrived.

(In case you are looking for a raccoon, they are between the house and the bush, under the fence, near the downspout.)

I told his sad tale to the officer, who followed him in the backyard of the house and emerged not with the frail waif I described, but with a snarling, spasming, devil who tried to eat her shoes.


Before we left, she held him up so that Fin could get a good look and I could get a picture. He growled and hissed and threatened my family.


Told you they were evil.