Refugees

The other night, I went upstairs to fetch something from my bedroom. When I opened the door, three small raccoons greeted me with shrieks and chirps. I admit, however, that the shrieks may have been mine. I slammed the door and yelled for help.

For years, raccoons have taken up periodic residence in our walls. Our house is a massive brick structure, a veritable fortress with brick interior walls that are two feet thick. It's 130 this year. Among other things, the soffitt is in need of repair. It has decayed and fallen away in places, leaving large openings that are an invitation for all manner of wildlife. We’ve heard critters in the ceilings, the walls, under the floors. Once, the commotion was so loud that my husband crept to our bedroom door in the middle of the night, armed with a ballbat. He flung open the door, prepared to defend his home in bloody battle, but the hallway was empty. The sounds were all around us, but the culprits remained hidden.

We’ve endured several uninvited guests throughout the years including bats, wild cats and the ever present raccoons. This year I decided enough was enough, so I bought a live trap and baited it with a can of oysters. Within hours we had a good sized critter rattling around inside, worrying the latch, hissing when we got too close. I had my son take it to a friend’s house in the country, near a woods, and turn it loose.

Two days later we began to hear an odd noise in the wall behind the stairwell. It was clear that whoever we’d shipped out to the country hadn’t been living alone. That night the sounds moved down the wall and came close to our bedroom. My husband crawled out of bed and shined a flashlight in a hole behind a loose baseboard.

“Oh boy,” he said.

“Oh no,” I said.

“Hey little guy,” he cooed. “Looks like we've got ourselves a baby.”

My mother’s heart sank. We’d trapped a mother, deported her like a criminal, and left her poor baby orphaned in the wall. I felt like a putz.

Over the course of the next four hours we tried to lure the little fella out with cheese and promises of a better life. At one am he stuck his head out far enough for my husband to clamp a gloved hand around his neck. He screamed bloody murder (the raccoon, that is) as we walked him out the door. He had long claws and sharp little teeth, and knowing virtually nothing about baby raccoons, we turned him out into the yard. He waddled off like he knew where he was going.

The next day we returned home from an errand, and as we stepped out of the car we heard the same Chewbacca-type chirping from the night before. The sounds led us to the base of a tree where we discovered our little buddy, cowering and helpless. He seemed much smaller in the daylight, and we realized there was no way he was going to make it on his own. Ted scooped him up, and we made provision for him in a dog crate. Then I phoned animal control and was put into contact with a wildlife specialist who was happy to come get him and give him a decent shot at life. What a relief. That night the peacefulness of our surroundings was noticeable. No scratching, crying, chirping, screeching.

It was the next day when I burst through my bedroom door and discovered that three more babies had emerged from the opening behind the baseboard. They were frightened, hungry, dehydrated and some of the cutest things I’d ever seen. Again, we set up a studio apartment in the dog crate. I forced water down each of them through a basting syringe, fed them moist cat food, and made another phone call to the wildlife rescue worker. She was shocked to hear there were more but quickly came to town and welcomed them into her wild little family.

I suspect there’s a metaphor in this experience that will make good fodder for a future story, but I haven’t figured it out yet. For now, I’m content with people’s reactions when I tell them I had three baby raccoons hanging out in my bedroom, and that I named them Moe, Larry and Curly.

Comments

[jennifer]

that's adorable. probably you were supposed to learn something about tolerance, but you don't need baby raccoons in your bedroom for that - you've got kids.

[Don]

Cute. Hope they like their new home and Mom isn't missing her kids! ;)

Glad you were able to get them to a new home!

[Mel]

One day a character in your novel will open a door and find three baby racoons. Just wait!

[J's Girlfriend]

What an excellent blog! I've always wanted a creative writing degree and your entries show it might be worth it... I've tried much the same jobs you have and never found satisfaction. Aiming for psychologist next.