Skip to main content

The Rocky Raccoon Horror Picture Show: Man vs. Beast

It all started the month before Christmas with the first indications of a break-in to our house.

I'm a pretty light sleeper, especially after having kids. One night, some noises downstairs woke me. It sounded like someone was opening the pantry.

Persistence, I thought, annoyed, on another midnight food raid. As I worked to open my burning, exhausted eyes, and convince my body It Had to Get Up and Go Save the Baby, I spared one irritated moment to wonder whether we had properly closed and latched the pantry before bed.

When I got downstairs, the utility room and kitchen were trashed. And Persistence was upstairs asleep in her bed.

I called my husband down. After much investigation, we decided our hyperthyroid cat Bubba must have lost his last noodle and gone on a bender.

This theory held up in that every single morning that we got up, the cat bowl (filled completely the night before) was totally empty, and someone had been biting his way into the dog food bag and cat food container.

"Damn cat," we snapped every morning at Bubba, "Eating us out of house and home!" The cat just stared at us, guiltily? balefully? and tore out another chunk of fur, dropping it at our feet with a pitiful squeak. We felt terrible. Poor old man. We patted his head. I promised to be better about putting out wet food for dinner.

As the weeks wore on, I stared getting really suspicious. The clues and evidence weren't holding up. I set aside my investigation during Christmas, but in early January, the invasions got more frequent and bold. The good news was that this left more evidence.

"I think we fit the evidence to our theory of the crime rather than the other way around," I told my husband a couple of weeks in to January.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, on CSI, Grissom always says..."

"No no no not CSI...I mean, what evidence and what theory, how is it not holding up?" he interrupted.

"Oh," I said, pausing dramatically, "I think something other than the cat is coming in and eating the cat food. I don't think our cats, even Bubba, can eat this much all the time."

"What're you thinking? You thinking he's inviting other cats home again?" (Cue brief memory of the time when Bubba ran with a street gang of orange tabby cats and we worried daily about his welfare…luckily we were supportive and trusting parents, and, as generous hosts to him and his friends, could keep a close eye on them…and then he grew out of it.)

"Maybe," I said slowly, "Maybe other cats. Or maybe it's one of the woodland creatures."

"One of the woodland creatures? What? What are you talking about?"

"Well, the dog has been going nutty in the back, in the tree section, and something is smart enough to get in our house. Maybe it's a raccoon."

My husband rolled his eyes at me.

"No, really," I protested, "Raccoons are really smart! It explains how something is opening up the dog canister. Cats can't do that! It would also explain the dirt in the dog water dish. They wash their hands before eating. Think about it. This house is like a raccoon's dream come true."

He rolled his eyes again, but I could tell he was giving it some thought.

The next night it misted, leaving a fine film of moist out. I paid attention to the footprints on the grill, and on my kitchen tile.

I used packing tape and took a sample track, just like the Crocodile Hunter version of Sarah Sidle. I surfed the Internet, seeking a photo of a raccoon print.

Sure enough, the computer came back with huge message POSITIVE MATCH.

I high-fived the two year old, who was cheering sympathetically.

"We've got our culprit," I told her.

"I know what culprit means, Mom," said the five year old, "That was on Pinky Dinky Doo. And the culprit was this purple troll guy who was stealing all the cheese and it all started when they were at this fair in the park and the trees were green and round like I like to draw and then the..."

"That's great," I cut her off, "Now we all know what culprit means, and better, we know who it is."

That night, my husband grimly agreed that evidence does not lie. Clearly, a raccoon was breaking in. True to his profession, he scoped out the back of the house, identifying the most likely areas of vulnerability, and designed a raccoon security system.

We slept easy for a couple of weeks. The security system worked. No raccoon.

At this point, though, he must have been getting desperate. Hungry and desperate.

Around ten o'clock one night, my husband and I were in the living room watching TV.

All of the sudden...











"What the?!?!?!" we gasped, running to the utility room.

In this corner of the ring: The Raccoon

On one side of the cat door (not yet locked for the night) a raccoon head was butting against the flap, trying to get in.

And in the other corner: The Cat

On the other side, my intrepid hunter cat Francie would wait for the raccoon to push against the door. Once the raccoon did, she'd use her paw and the door to whap the raccoon upside the head, throwing in a ferocious feline yowl and hiss. Attracted by the commotion, the dog was first on the scene and added in his "despite my floppy ears and wagging tail my bark is low and deep and makes grown plumbers pee their pants in fear" woof bark.

We both slapped hands over our mouths and tried really, really hard to stifle our hysterical laughter. We failed. We clutched our sides, wiped tears from our eyes, and laughed loud enough to wake small sleeping children.

If only you could have seen how unbelievably funny it was. Just imagine, a cat, licking her paw in between whaps, smacking an intruding raccoon upside the head with a cat door flap, accompanied by a symphony of yowls and woofs from the other cat and dog.

My husband gasped for breath between gales of laughter, ""

I nodded, still laughing too hard to speak. We ran, dog between us, to the back door, and opened it. Can you believe that at the exact instant we opened the door and the dog ran out, the raccoon decided to Abandon Mission and the two of them ran smack into one another?

When they recovered, the raccoon streaked towards the tree, the dog hot on his tail, literally. The dog might have had him, too, except he opened his mouth to bark and thus lost the grip on the five hairs of the raccoon's tail.

He did tree it though. And did bark madly, trying to jump or climb the tree for a good while, until we decided the neighborhood had heard enough woofing and surely the raccoon was scared enough to Move Far, Far Away.

Or, suffer another fate entirely.

Never underestimate the fortitude of a woodland creature.

The next night, he was back, trying to finagle his way through our security system.

"What is this," I asked my husband two nights ago, "The Ocean's Eleven of Raccoons?"

More like the Knights of Prosperity raccoon, my sister would say.

Except, he succeeded, and he broke in, once again.

We called Wild Animal Control. Who told us it's illegal to catch and relocate raccoons. "Even to the nature preserve up the road?" we asked, all innocently, not at all imagining the hungry alligators. "Each bit of territory is claimed by a raccoon. You move him," the animal expert told us, "And there will have to be a fight, to the death."

So it's back to this: Us. Our house. The raccoon, a home invader. Stuck in this plot of land, not even a full acre.

We kept him out last night, but I think he might be altering his schedule. I think he snuck in this morning.

Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen...odds for man or beast?

copyright 2007 Julie Pippert

Tags: ,,,, ,


Gwen said…
Raccoons are really clever at getting what they want. Good luck! although if you fail, I feel certain we'll be treated to some more funny stories like this one.

See, this is why I love cats. :)
Julie Pippert said…
I'm just glad the cats and dog are on our side. ;)

I'd rather become boring but I'll try to definitely share the outcome!

They are clever and persistent!

Tonya said…
I'm a CSI fanatic and your post was cracking me up!!!
We had a bout with 'coons a while back and one almost attacked my husband over some cat food. We think my cat lost one fateful evening as we never saw him again - sniff, sniff. Be careful!!!
luckyzmom said…
Gil would be proud!

Way back when we lived in a forested area,my husband went out on the deck on a very dark night and heard a bunch of odd scratching.Thinking a cat was stuck up a tree or? he got a flashlight and found,evenly spaced up the trunk of one of our tall pine trees,one big pair and four smaller pairs of raccoon eyes looking at him.They remained frozen until the light was turned off and then the scatching noise resumed.They must have been on vacation and using our tree for a motel maybe.
I never bet against a hungry racoon. Those suckers win every time.
Girlplustwo said…
sister, i'd like to side with you, but that raccoon seems pretty crafty.

and this is one heck of a hilarious story.
Julie Pippert said…
I am so not offended by all of you laying odds on the raccoon.

I lay my odds there too, just a little.


My motivation: slight annoyance, mild concern for my pets

His motivation: life and death

This and wait as my husband tries to trick the trickster into a live trap. Which I STG we will not move that raccoon in more than the allowed 5 feet. ;)

If you laughed...send me to the ROFL ladies. Yes, I'm begging and shamelessly plugging. I'm pitiful. ;)

I'll let you guys know what happens next...

Will the raccoon fall for the trap?

Wil my husband shriek like a girl if the raccoon swats at him through the trap's bars? Or will I?

Will we actually be able to relocate the raccoon?

Stay tuned...
HAAAAAAAAAaa ha ha ha!

Oh, um....I don't believe you.

Julie Pippert said…
Ms. Flawed, LOL. You better believe I'll be at your blog today heckling you LOL (kidding! the heckling part, not the visiting part)

Popular posts from this blog

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Quorum

After being confronted with written evidence, Julie admits that she is a total attention whore. In some things, in some ways, sometimes I look outward for validation of my worth and existence. I admit it. It's my weak spot, my vanity spot . If you say I am clever, comment on a post, offer me an award, mention me on your blog, reply to a comment I left on your blog, or in any way flatter me as a writer...I am hopelessly, slavishly devoted to you. I will probably even add you to my blogroll just so everyone can see the list of all the cool kids who actually like me . The girl, she knows she is vain in this regard , but after much vanity discussion and navel-gazing , she has decided to love herself anyway, as she is (ironically) and will keep searching for (1) internal validation and (2) her first person . Until I reach a better point of self-actualization, though, may I just say that this week you people have been better than prozac and chocolate (together, with a side of whi

In defense of vanity...I think

Do you have one of those issues where you argue with yourself? Where you just aren't sure what you actually think because there are so many messages and opinions on the topic around you? I have more than one like this. However, there is one topic that has been struggling to the top of my mind recently: vanity and perceived vanity. Can vanity be a good thing? Vanity has historically been truly reviled. Vanity is number seven of the Seven Deadly Sins. It's the doppleganger of number seven on the Seven Holy Virtues list: humility. There are many moralistic tales of how vanity makes you evil and brings about a spectacular downfall. Consider the lady who bathed in the blood of virgins to maintain her youth. Google Borgia+vanity and find plenty. The Brothers Grimm and Disney got in on the act too. The Disney message seems to be: the truly beautiful don't need to be vain. They are just naturally eye-catchingly gorgeous. And they are all gorgeous. Show me the Reubenesque Pr

Is your name yours? How your name affects your success...

Made by Andrea Micheloni Not too long ago I read What's in a name? by Veronica Mitchell. She'd read the NPR/USA Today article, Blame it on your name , that shared new research results: "a preference for our own names and initials — the 'name-letter effect' — can have some negative consequences." Veronica's post and that article got me thinking about names, and their importance. Changing to my husband’s name and shedding my maiden name was no love lost for me. By the time we married, I’d have gladly married any other name just for a change. My maiden name was a trial; I was sick of spelling it, pronouncing it, explaining it, and dealing with the thoughtless rude comments about it. My sister and I dreamed and planned for the day we could shed that name. So I wonder, sometimes, whether I adequately considered what a name change would actually mean. Heritage and genealogy matter to me and my maiden name reflected a great deal of familial history. Histo