Mr. Rocky Racket and His Family

To you, I am a Raccoon, wild life without borders, turning over your trash can to make way with your left overs, stealing from your fruit trees; home invaders that are willing to settle for sheds if we can not penetrate your attic.

To me I am Rocky Racket Raccoon along with my Ms.  Rockette Raccoon and the Kits, just trying to make a living out of poor man’s dirt, as the song goes,  so give me a break, already.

We are incredibly marked with black fur encircling our eyes, off set  by shades of creamy to bright white fur. Our tails are ringed black and grey capped with a black tip. Our bodies are sturdy in the summer when we scavenge for food, leaner in the winter months when we do with less. We are motley shades of light black to dark grey. But it is our paws that resemble human hands in looks and dexterity, that amuse and amaze the Two Footed. Momma and Wonder Boy are no exception. We use them to fish, to carry kits, to climb trees, much like human but no guns, this is Canada, eh?

Some of our best friends are the cats in the neighbor hood. It is a fact, every morning, bright and early, I used to wake up, saunter up the porch steps and thump on the front door. Momma would open it, black and white Cat Mao and I would go walking down the sidewalk to the neighbor’s ornamental pool, flush with tropical fish.  We thought we were in Heaven as we splashed and perpetuated the Circle of Life.  For some odd reason, the Two Footed Owners were not so supportive.  They closed their pond forever, draining and filling it in. They planted rose bushes with thorns that ripped my fur out if I tried to poach a sweet rose bud.  I am just hoping the owners don’t get that rose-bush thorn infection.  It is just nasty…. 🙂

We are a happy-go-lucky bunch, and can acclimatize to many home settings.  That is why like the feral cats, we lived at the some of the ‘Too Big to Fail’ Auto Manufacturing Plants.  I have been told that upon occasion a raccoon would dive bomb the huge scrap bins, looking for food. The Maintenance Department would come with a ladder. Momma, as the Human Resource Manager would be called to sweet talk the raccoons out of the bin.  After all, those bins were for scrap steel. It was no place for a raccoon to stake a claim. They would sit and ponder exactly what Momma was telling them, then head to the side, deep in concentration, their unwavering eyes showing intelligence and trust.  Then they would walk over, climb up the ladder, jump off the side of the bin and scamper to shelter. Survival 101?

However my family have lived at this location as long as Mr. Grey Squirrel’s family. We got that, what do you call it – Squatters Rights.  We are not giving up our home because twenty years ago a family moved in with pets.  No, we adapt …..and play with them, on moonlit nights, under the cherry tree.

I tell you, who does not like a party?  Here in the garage, on an arctic mass winter day, ensconced on boards, running from rafter to rafter, Mama Rockette and I are huddled down, waiting for spring and remembering that perfect summer night, especially made for the nocturnal. We were all there. Wonder Boy was sitting on the bench, contemplating life and nature in his midst. The squirrels were high in the cherry tree, shaking the branches, raining ripe and not so ripe cherries to the ground.  The Indoor Outdoor Cats – there were four of them that night – were laying down Egyptian style, paws tucked under, on the steps.  With startling speed they would dive off the stairs, catch a cherry which looked so red, so sweet, so inviting, in mid-air, grimacing when their teeth pierced the cherry skin.  They would spit them out, tails twitching and march back up the steps.  That is when Mamma Rockette and I went wild, scooping the cherries up, swallowing them whole, pits and all.

Meanwhile, we still had our eyes on our three kits who were crawling up the steps, making friendly with the cats, while we feasted and gorged.  They would reach out their tiny paws and bat the cats playfully, who looked frozen. The Kitty Cat Club Med instinctively recognized that our kits were off limit.  They looked to Wonder Boy, pleading with their eyes, make the parents step up.  No worry, Mama Rockette was on the job.  She growled quietly as she mounted the steps, swatting her exuberant kits, directing down the stairs, and back to their nests, where they tumbled eagerly in position, to fall asleep as they nursed.

Mama Rockette and I, we are some of the lucky ones. We have learned it is much easier to live with Two Footed and their civilized pets than the predators that lurk in and are covered by, the deep, dark menacing forest.

Still, I don’t want any other raccoons moving in.                                             There are invisible / divisible borders in place and we expect all wild life to respect them….Got it, already?

Like this: See Without Boarders or Borders?

 Mr. Grey Squirrel                                                                                                           Mr. Grey Squirrel  Moves In                                                                        Keeping Up with Mr. Grey Squirrel

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

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