2003.04.03

The night visitor

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Was awakened at 4 a.m. by the sounds of scratching and clawing from (apparently) inside the walls of the house. This wasn’t the first time this week, and I made a mental note to call pest control in the morning. However, the noise was too loud to ignore and I couldn’t fall asleep again, so, armed with a broomstick and wrapped up against the elements, I went out into the night to track down the location (if not the cause) of the racket.

It was raining and windy outside, and the glare of the streetlamps filtered through the waving plum branches made it difficult to pick out details. I searched for suspicious openings in the woodwork and started poking the end of the broom handle against them, hoping to rattle the perpetrator into the open, but with no luck. The noise did stop, though, and just to be sure, I went around the house, looking for more clues. By the time I reached the front door again, the scratching had resumed, but this time the source was clear: a medium-sized raccoon had nestled between the split-angle joint between sections of roof and was happily trying to burrow herself into my attic.

The broom handle was too short to reach, so I lightly tapped the gutter with it. At this point the raccoon turned apprehensively towards me, freezing against the wall. I don’t have a ladder (and I’m not exactly the type to go chasing after wild animals in the first place!), so there was little to do but exchange intimidating looks.

We stood like that, locked in detente, for a about a half hour. The night visitor and the waterlogged insomniac. I’d have given up like any normal person, except for the absurd fact that it seemed to be working: every minute the raccoon would step backwards, not shifting her gaze away, until finally she reached the ridge of the roof and bounded away into the blackness. Victorious, I returned to the warmth of the house and slept, deeply and undisturbed.


And just now, it hailed. Should be an unusual day.


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