His little raccoon hands were able to grasp and toss items with the dexterity of a 15-year-old playing World of Warcraft.Īt sleepy-time the scourge disappeared, somewhere in our home, to a cozy spot we never found. He would avoid capture by darting back and forth across the curtain rod, and only by waving Sugar Pops under his nose was he lured down to earth.Īnother raccoonish skill was the ability to empty a cabinet or drawer of its contents with lightning speed. Thumbing his runny button-size nose at gravity, he would clamber up floor-lengthcurtains in the blink of an eye, leaving holes and loose threads in his wake. He demonstrated other less odious but still amazing abilities to annoy - combining the climbing ability of Spider-Man with the vacuous cunning of Donald Trump. We were ignorant of the raccoon diet and too lazy to go to the library to find out at this point in the 20th century the Internet was a dim Star Trek dream of the future. The “presents” he left around the house generally had the consistency and adhesive properties of lumpy white glue, but not white and without the pleasing odor.
His digestive tract had accelerated into a faster track, so the cuddling took on a smelly aspect we grew to dread. We took turns caring for the little brute, at first vying for the honor, but the bloom quickly left the rose.
He was adorable, so we gave him free rein in our home and quickly discovered this animalwould not be restrained or house-trained. One day he was the size of a small bag of sugar, the next the size of a much larger bag of sugar. My mother said he resembled a cousin of hers who once ate a bee. Swaddled in a towel he resembled a hirsutehuman infant with unusual but striking features. The tiny blighter was too young for solid food, so a baby bottle was found, filled with warm milk, and soon the raccoon was feeding comfortably. This particular animal would test that love. The novelty of raccoon ownership was enough to forestall questions about my dad’s adoption impulse, although I’m pretty sure he didn’t plan to eat it.Īctually, my father is known for his love of animals. We’d gotten the animal from my dad’s buddy who found the raccoon mother dead on the side of the highway, with three infant raccoons huddled pathetically around the body. A devastatingly cute ring-tailed raccoon, pointy-faced and beady-eyed.