Target On My Back
So I was highlighting Aunt Taffy's hair today when across my yard wobbled a dirty, wounded raccoon. In broad daylight. It crawled under my deck, presumably to die. As I searched for the number for animal control it limped back out from under the deck. I called animal control and waited forty minutes.
The raccoon spent 15 solid minutes standing at my birdbath getting one heck of a drink. Then it slowly washed its wounded paws, slowly went and sat under a tree and slowly lumbered off to my back fence where it eventually made it up and over. About ten minutes later, animal control showed up and I told her everything about the odd behavior and sad state of this scraggly critter.
I found it odd that a car pulled up next to the truck and didn't go by, but I ignored it and finished my story. The animal control officer got ready to go look for the raccoon and I noticed one of the seven or eight feral cats in our neighborhood at my front stoop. I turned back and said, "Oh, yeah, and we seem to have some cats wandering around!"
As animal control drove off, Rosie Perez's voice double hopped out of the suspicious car and started yelling at me for calling animal control about the cats. She said I shouldn't have any problems with them. I incredulously responded to the lady shrieking at me in the street that I do have a problem when they poop all over my yard.
I was so overtaken with respect for this obviously intelligent woman when she gave me her profound response: "They don't poop! It was probably your own @$$!"-- as her tweenage son stood begging her to stop and get out of the street (where she was blocking the path of a schoolbus). I sure wish I could be as classy as her. Maybe someday. In the meantime, I hope the rabid raccoon bites her in her hateful mouth.
CL
The raccoon spent 15 solid minutes standing at my birdbath getting one heck of a drink. Then it slowly washed its wounded paws, slowly went and sat under a tree and slowly lumbered off to my back fence where it eventually made it up and over. About ten minutes later, animal control showed up and I told her everything about the odd behavior and sad state of this scraggly critter.
I found it odd that a car pulled up next to the truck and didn't go by, but I ignored it and finished my story. The animal control officer got ready to go look for the raccoon and I noticed one of the seven or eight feral cats in our neighborhood at my front stoop. I turned back and said, "Oh, yeah, and we seem to have some cats wandering around!"
As animal control drove off, Rosie Perez's voice double hopped out of the suspicious car and started yelling at me for calling animal control about the cats. She said I shouldn't have any problems with them. I incredulously responded to the lady shrieking at me in the street that I do have a problem when they poop all over my yard.
I was so overtaken with respect for this obviously intelligent woman when she gave me her profound response: "They don't poop! It was probably your own @$$!"-- as her tweenage son stood begging her to stop and get out of the street (where she was blocking the path of a schoolbus). I sure wish I could be as classy as her. Maybe someday. In the meantime, I hope the rabid raccoon bites her in her hateful mouth.
CL
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