And now to our drama on the homefront . . . When we moved downtown many warned us of the perils of city living: shootings, break-ins, drug deals, and the like. But we were resolved to face whatever our new urban lifestyle brought. Thus far, we've experienced none of those previous things, but recently we have come face to face with a danger we didn't count on:
Raccoons.
Yep, when we left the 'burbs for the city we thought we traded in rural critters for sewer rats, but it's been a raccoon that has plagued us. I first saw him a couple of weeks ago as I was coming in from the parking lot; he actually walked toward me, which was troubling because raccoons can be vicious critters. After yelling at him, he ran into a hole that leads under our deck, into his own private Idaho. He's been hiding out there since then, gnawling away on garbage and ripping up the insulation on my heat pump.
He's made a few appearances which left me in a quandary of what to do. I couldn't shoot him because we're surrounded by people and don't currently own a gun. I didn't want to beat him with a baseball bat, because we're in a more refined housing area and it could be a bloody mess [plus, right when I'd go at him, the neighbor girls would be sure to come home and see me bludgeoning a 'coon].
I eventually decided that this fell within the realm of a condo issue, so I called the proper authorities who sent a guy out with a trap. There was nothing for twenty-four hours, but finally tonight:
He'll roam no mo'. You would be proud of me, though; I've resisted the urge to poke him with a stick.
But our neighbor still contends that there's another raccoon that's been lurking around. I guess this vermin's been using the area under our deck as his own little bachelor pad. Time is over, boys. Don't make me beat you with a baseball bat.
In a related note, who knew that Dreamworks would transform our plight into a major motion picture?