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Next up, rabid proboscis monkeys in the washing machine


Meet “Rocky,” over there to your left.  We just met him ourselves for the first time early this morning when Jon checked the humane trap he had set up in one of our upstairs bedrooms. He took the step after we continued to hear noises around the house that we had decided were either a ghost (highly unlikely) or more possums (extremely likely).

So Jon acquired a large, humane trap, and late last night, he cut a hole in the drywall of the closet of an unused bedroom upstairs, exposing the space between inner and outer walls of our house. He then baited the trap with catfood, and attached the trap to the hole in the wall.

Six hours later – VOILA! A …..raccoon?

That was a shocker. We already know we have a bit of a possum problem inside our giant, 101 year old house, but we had no idea that yet another species has somehow now gotten in on the act.

Yes, in addition to the possums raining from the bathroom ceiling, it appears that raccoons have now crashed the Grainger Avenue Animal House. Frankly, at this point, I won’t be surprised if  Jon next captures something like a Giant Aardvark in the laundry hamper, or we come home to find a Proboscis Monkey nonchalantly playing Wii Fit in our living room.

But anyway, after discovering the trapped (and incontinent) raccoon in the upstairs bedroom early this morning, Jon and I next made the very unwise decision to leave it there temporarily while we came back downstairs and spent well over 30 minutes debating where we could take this very large creature – bigger than our youngest child – so that he would never return to Club Our House, and also how we would get him wherever he needed to go.

Calls were made. The Internet was consulted. Finally, we decided that Jon would wrap the cage in plastic bags – leaving airholes, of course – and carry it down the stairs and out the back door. He would then affix the cage with the raccoon in it to the roof rack of my SOLID GOLD MINIVAN, using bungee cords, and then Jon would drive the raccoon a few miles away to a friend’s empty but overgrown lot, where Rocky would be set free.

This seemed like a truly excellent plan, so Jon and I next wasted another five to ten minutes congratulating ourselves on the way we had outsmarted the raccoon, and about how we would be safely transporting him to another bus line.  It then took another approximately ten to twenty minutes to locate and assemble the necessary elements for our plan.  Finally, Jon went upstairs wearing heavy leather gloves, ready to launch “Operation Raccoon on the Roof Rack,” only to find that —wait for it…..wait for it…… THE FREAKING RACCOON HAD ESCAPED!

Somehow, while we hemmed and hawed about what to do with the damn thing, the raccoon managed to re-open the end of the trap through which he’d entered – the end that was supposed to fall shut and contain him in the cage – and he’d disappeared back into the wall from whence he’d come.

Sigh.

Now I need to get dressed and out the door to work for the day. And Jon and I both smell vaguely of raccoon musk, even though neither of us touched him. Another shower will be required for each of us.

(I will say that the raccoon was way less venal looking than the possums.)

 

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