It is June, at the height of kitten season and we are overloaded with sick mommas with sick babies and well babies with no momma and well babies with well mommas.  This all requires around the clock bottle feeding and then we add into this mix way too many young adults who became “throw away” toys just when they reached breeding age and through no fault of their own. I now function with never more than a 2-hour stretch of sleep if it is a good night. My impatience with irresponsible pet owners is high. Several people can attest to that. Sorry, animals and children first.

It is 2am and I am just finishing up bottle feeding 5 orphan babies who grab at that nipple like it is the last meal they will ever see. I hear noises in my backyard and finishing up the last kitten’s feeding, I go to investigate. It is big, very huge, and ugly, both in looks and in the mean expression reflected in its eyes.  This appears to be a large bear cub and I try to scare it away as I stand in my kitchen doorway. I know noise will scare him. “Boo,” I whisper instead.

Suddenly, I realize I have left the side garage door open and the light on inside. The animal steps into the lighted area and I see the largest raccoon ever. I mean this animal could not get his head into one of my large Hav-a-heart traps he is that big and he is not scared of this old lady standing in her robe and slippers. At the same time, I realize that my old cats, Faith and Charity have run past my feet and they cheerfully go to greet the “newest” guest in our kitty foster home. I can taste my concern for their safety and also realize that our rescue’s food delivery was in and was stored in the garage until sorted. I knew he wanted to rip open all those bags, eat a huge dinner and then lay his scent by peeing and “you know” all over the food.  HHPR cannot afford to lose this food.

OMG, I jumped back and grabbed a kitchen knife. Not a butcher knife – really just a table knife. Realizing how stupid I look, I reach back and grab my broom instead – much better. I stand on the steps waving the broom and yelling, “Go away, go away.” He looked back at me as though he would raise an eyebrow. I realized I would have to go all the way out, open the large noisy overhead door, and close the garage side door from the inside. I dance sideways across the yard with my broom doing a sort of side step of the Mashed Potato dance from the 1960’s. Maybe the noise of the door would scare him. I am within 4 feet of him to get to the other door still waving my broom. I open the overhead door and now stare almost nose to nose with Herman, the raccoon. We are on a first name basis now. He is not afraid, but I am doing big time deep breathing to cover up my fear scent from him. It doesn’t work.

He doesn’t break eye contact. I am too scared to move my eyes. I pray that my good neighbor across the street is up again and looking out his window. He keeps our neighborhood safe, but where the devil is he now. I feel Herman is about to make a move, I strike first plunging my broom at the door slamming it almost closed before he could actually move in. Only his nose is inside and he is not very nice about this. I ease up just enough to let him release his nose. Racing back out the overhead door, slamming it closed, I head to the house just as he comes around the garage corner. My broom and I do a wicked fast Mashed Potato dance all the way back to the house. The cats were waiting at the kitchen door. “Come on in, you fools,” I complain. “Although right now, I don’t know who was more of a fool, the cats, the raccoon, or me.”