The Hunted.

I’m all about women taking on bold and courageous roles in their lives. But when it comes to these raccoons I’m starting to turn into a little four year old girl.

In case you’ve been out of the loop, our house has been recently haunted by a family of raccoons living in our attic. It was almost too much for me to believe at first – we just got our mouse problem under control, and that whole adventure was a catastrophe. Now we have something bigger, messier and louder. If I didn’t already know that there were raccoons I would think I was an insane person because I’m constantly hearing noises in the walls. Some of them are so loud they make me jump.

The first three raccoons we caught with ease; bam, bam, bam. One, two, three. Three racoons down and one to go. But this last one is a gift from hell. He doesn’t want to leave.

I’m thoroughly appalled.

When we came back from Florida a short while ago we were coming off of a 20+ hour road trip, and for the last few hours of that trip I had to pee, tremendously. But I decided just to be a champ and hold it until we got home because at this point I just really wanted to be back in my house asap. So the moment we rolled up to our pad I sprang for the door and went straight to the bathroom. But I hadn’t sat down for three seconds when I suddenly heard a horrendous banging sound from two feet away from me in the bathtub. I screamed like a pansy. I’d say I wet myself but technically the situation had me well placed.

Turns out the noises weren’t coming from inside the tub, they were coming from beneath the tub, where at least one, possibly a family, of raccoons was living. I can’t quite understand how unlucky I am when it comes to rodents and other small animals. It’s unfathomable. They must think I’m Dr. Dolittle. Or maybe they’ve mistaken me for Noah and they think another flood is coming. But seriously, my house isn’t a boat and they would be much better off bothering someone that at least had an upstairs.

So this last raccoon that has been living with us for over a month now seems to think he’s got us wrapped around his little finger. I’m calling him “Snickers”, because I hear him laughing at me in my dreams.

Originally I wanted to come up with some sort of profound analogy about the devil invading our space and disrupting our peace. It might have been a good blog post. But nah.

Any advice on how to beam the sucker up into space would be greatly accepted.

Kropf out.

One thought on “The Hunted.

  1. Hi Jen:

    I actually heard that loud noices and light during the day ticks them off, (since they like to hibernate during the day) maybe then they will find a new residence down the road. Blast some heavy rock music near their bedroom and put a Tim the Taylor light near a crack where they are and see if that helps make them move out!


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