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Sun Feb 18, 2007 9:44 pm  |
The combination of guapagirl's drama queen competition and the fact that I ran into an old "acquaintance" at the supermarket tonite has led me to recount this tale....
About 18 months ago, I came home to find the house in total disarray. The only conclusion I could draw was that someone had broken in. There didn't seem to be any obvious sign of a break in, but I have 4 separate entrances.
I'm licensed to carry a firearm (job related) and trained to use it. I very carefully made my way upstairs. All my bravado evaporated instantaneously when I saw the largest raccoon I had ever seen perched on the drapery rod in my bedroom. (We later learned that he came in via the fireplace...)
You have got to understand something. I'm a NYC girl. I do alot better with thugs and muggers and such than I do with wild animals! Hell, I never even saw a pig alive and in person until I was 26! I went COMPLETELY bonkers!!! I was way past hysterical when I called 911. In fact, I think I must have been somewhat incoherent. Had I been calmer, when the dispatcher asked me, "Ma'am, is he still in the house?" I would have made clear that "he" was a raccoon.
By the time I made it back downstairs and out the front door, 3 squad cars raced up to the house. I was still hysterical when I pointed to the front door and told the police which room he was in. Shaking my head.... They moved in with their guns drawn. Needless to say, they were not at all pleased with me when they discovered that my intruder was a big, fat raccoon. 
I was in shock when they told me there was nothing they could do!!! Finally, one of the younger guys took pity on me cause I was so distressed and gave me the phone number of an outfit that deals with this sort of thing. Even though he was chuckling the whole time, I was VERY grateful. My bf was on the West Coast at the time and I really had no idea what to do.
When these people arrived with all their paraphernalia, the first thing they did was ask me if I had peanut butter and brownies (I thought they were hungry...  ). I had peanut butter and chocolate cake, which they said would do. They proceeded up to my bedroom and placed a "trap" which was really just a big cage with the peanut butter and cake inside. They closed the door and told me they'd be back the next day!!!
State of shock number two!!! That was my bedroom!!! AND my bathroom!!!! They just shrugged and said they'd be back. I told myself it wasn't THAT bad. It wasn't the only room that I had clothes in, and I have more than one bathroom...
The next day, they came back as promised. The raccoon had eaten the peanut butter and cake but was NOT in the trap. Sooooo, they put more goodies in there and again told me they'd be back.
This went on for four days!!! This damn raccoon was no dope. Hell, he probably had never eaten so well. The cop who had given me the number of the trappers came back a few times to check and see how I was doing. He clearly was thoroughly amused by the whole thing and got a kick out of how distraught I was. I figured he was building up an arsenal of stories about the crazy chick with the raccoon in her bedroom, but I was still happy to see him whenever he came over, mainly cause it was another opportunity to implore him to be a hero and go upstairs and shoot the raccoon.
On day 5, I worked up the nerve to peek in and opened the door just a crack. There he was literally swinging on one of my antique Italian beaded chandeliers that I had dragged across the continent. It was the LAST straw. I called the trapper people and told them (at a very high volume) that I had had it and that if they didn't get the friggin raccoon OUT of my bedroom I was gonna blow it away!
They came right over - this time with what looked like heavy duty butterfly nets. They put on all this protective gear, grabbed their nets, went in, and closed the door. After what sounded like WWIII, one of them called out to me to open the back door and stand away. They came out with the monster ensnared in the net, and took him out back.
About 15 minutes later, they came back in and told me that they had very good news for me. I waited for it breathlessly  . Pffffft - the good news was that the raccoon was ok. I did NOT care that he was okay. In fact, I wanted to strangle him (except for the fact that I was too scared to touch him  ). When I walked upstairs to reclaim my bedroom, I thought I would die. The reason why it sounded like WWIII was cause it clearly WAS WWIII. Both my bedroom and the bathroom were total disasters. My drapes were ripped. Everything had been thrown off the shelves. Pictures were crooked. And, all that peanut butter and cake..... Well, use your imagination.
It took the professional cleaning service all day to clean up. The drapes were NOT salvageable.
But the monster raccoon lived happily ever after
Anyway, what led me to recount this tale of woe was that I was on the checkout line at the market this afternoon and this guy came up to me. It was the cop. I didn't recognize him. (1) He was out of uniform; (2) I wasn't entirely lucid during our encounters. When he reminded me who he was, I told him how the tale finally ended (when I got done blushing furiously). This time he didn't just chuckle. He guffawed.
the end |
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Mon Feb 19, 2007 3:59 pm |
| ariesxtreme wrote: |
The following night I hear more ruckus and about 3 little critters running around and fighting. I hear them sneering and viciously attacking each other. I finally realized they were raccoons because one night I saw the tail hanging out of a little hole the created to get into the house. Apparently the darn thing had a liter and they were all living in my attic. I couldn't sleep for months straight through for the fear that they'd eat right through the ceiling and land on my FACE  !! I finally called animal control months later and they took care of the darn critters. |
You bunch of cissys!! Try coping with a ghost in your house, now that will freak you out! 
We had to cope with a ghost in our previous house for months. For a long time at night there would be a waft of scent in our bedroom, that would just appear out of nowhere and only at night. You know how you read when you've got a visitation of the spectral kind the air goes cold and you can sometimes smell perfume, roses or violets or something, well that's what we had.
We searched everything and couldn't find the cause. I was so convinced that it was a ghost that I even started to put garlic in my cupboard drawers, yes I know..........that's supposed to ward off vampires, but when you're desperate you do anything!! Imagine how my undies smelt....... mmmmm nice! I even had my hubby convinced and he does NOT believe in things like that. It nearly got to the stage where I called in a priest with holy water! OK... slight exaggeration.
Finally we found the cause was the bedside lamp! The lightbulb in the lamp was too big, it should have been a smaller golfball size, so it was heating up the plastic surround to it and giving off this smell!! We could only smell it at night because the light was only on at night! Duh! Was I relieved to find out what it was!! Thing was, it didn't smell like plastic, it was like a sweet perfume and it didn't just smell around the lamp it filled the whole room! People laughed when we told them, but I bet anyone in that position would have resorted to the garlic and holy water!  |
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Mon Feb 19, 2007 6:50 pm |
Raccoons are only 20 pounds?!? Okay, I am here to tell you that just ain't so -- not in my neighborhood. Perhaps as a result of the plentiful dumpsters. My dog is smaller than these raccoons. He is 55 pounds. That's what I used as my yardstick. Can they have a foot thick pelt of hair?!? They are at least 2.5 feet wide. Lordy.
Possums are smaller. I fostered abandoned kits and pups for the local shelter for years, and one day I was working in the shelter office and a man came in, handed me a shoebox, looked me in the eye and said, "Now. I don't want this thing killed."
I gulped and peeked in -- expecting anything from a snake to a... gremlin. It was a tiny pink baby possum. And yes, it was playing dead beautifully.
I felt like I'd given the man my word, and the staff assured me that possums were "just like kittens" when it came to fostering. Um. Not so.
Possum Dearie did have opposable thumbs, like raccoons, on both hands and feet, so it handled its tiny bottle and also peeled grapes with great dexterity. Truly fascinating to watch it eat and clean itself. But possums are just plain ugly. The closest thing we have to dinosaurs, it is believed they are our most ancient species. You may know that birds are closely related to dinosaurs, and possums are close to birds, amazingly enough. Both birds and possums have eyes on either side of their skulls, rather than in front. It allows them to see almost behind them -- which is very necessary, when you are prey. It also explains why birds and possums do not look at you full face, but must use one eye or the other. Possum Dearie's head, in certain lights, looked like a dried cow skull. I kept trying to wrap my heart around loving this little creature, but it just didn't work. I kept thinking I was just prejudiced, and had been conditioned not to like them. But they do not have the rounded lines and features that make babies of all sorts so appealing to us.
Still. Because I'd given my word, I fostered it till it was two months old, quite healthy, and I used part of the time to introduce local children to the magic of baby wildlife.
Then it came time to let it go.
I set it outside, in my rather lush garden. I gave it a bon voyage prayer and went back inside. That night, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a tiny nip on my thumb. Possum Dearie sat there, four inches tall, by my head, looking at me sideways, muttering, "Peel me a grape."
The next day, I took it to the reservoir park across the street. I had my misgivings, as coyotes live in that fenced off area, but I didn't know what else to do. Two nights go by. I let out a sigh of relief. And, by the way, answered a call from the shelter and picked up a tiny puppy to love for a while. That night, I am awakened, again, from a sound sleep, by odd noises in the kitchen. The puppy must have gotten out of its kennel and was wreaking havoc. I go into the kitchen, flip on the light, and Possum Dearie is flat on his back in the puppy food dish, throwing kibble in the air, hollering, "Yippee! YipEEE!"
Okay. So this possum has a homing device. I took it to the other side of the reservoir park. Which is a couple of blocks away from my house. With many obstacles and dumpsters and oases between us. A week goes by. All is still.
Then, in the middle of the night, my dog Jasper, a lab/SharPei (a melted lab, and the only foster I've ever kept out of over 100), nuzzles me awake. I murmur something and pet him. He continues to stare at me worriedly. This is unlike him, and had happened only once before, when he'd just witnessed someone stealing my mail. I reassure him that there is no fire or thief or need to get up and suggest he have a wee nap on his own bed next to mine. (He has always, of his own accord, refused my bed. Only I could find a dog with intimacy issues.) He circled down and sighed. I turned over and slept more. Then Jasper nuzzles me again. I ignore him. He puts his front paws on the bed, his ears back. Something has totally spooked him. Having watched too many Disney cartoons, I assume he's had a bad dream, and invite him on the bed. He scuttles up quickly and lays at the foot, shivering a bit. I pet him and reassure him. That's when I hear a CLUNK in the wastebasket by my head. I turn on the lamp, look down, and there is Possum Dearie, his eyes glinting happily at the pizza crust by his feet. He looks up at me. I sense there is a serious primal game going on now.
I can handle being harrassed by a possum, but when you pick on my boy, Jasper, that's the last straw. The next day, I put Possum Dearie in a carrying cage, got a girlfriend to drive the getaway car, and took the cage to Griffith Park -- the home of much wildlife (most of whom have obviously infiltrated my neighborhood). When we got to the Gene Autrey Museum, I ordered Marilyn to stop. Let's see. Picnic detritus, regular watering, shade. Okay. This is it. The best part -- it's five miles and several busy streets away from my house. I found a grassy glen, and opened the cage. Possum Dearie was hunkered down in the corner. I lost all patience, upended the cage quickly, turned my back and took off. "RUN!" I yelled at Marilyn.
"Don't you want to --?"
"RRRRUN! RUN LIKE THE WIND!"
I never saw Possum Dearie again. He belongs to the ages - and Griffith Park. And I now know that when Jasper puts his paws on my bed, his ears back, and shivers, he means. "Oh, Mo-om. Listen. I hate to bother you, but... um, I think there is a possum in the room..." |
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