Drama On the Balcony

Last time I sat on my balcony, I heard a rustling from behind my chair. When I turned and looked, and saw what it was, I called Jazzy over. She was reluctant, but I persisted.

“Jazzy! Come quickly! Hurry!”

She ran over. “What!?”

“Kitty cat.”

“Where?”

“Behind my chair. Come closer.”

So she did. Nice and close.

“AHHHHHH!!!”

She ran back into the house, slammed the door to her room, and stared at it from behind her window. Terrified.

The racoon seemed about as scared as she was. Wide-eyed, and completely surprised to see us. One hellova a thing to wake up to, I imagine – the sight of two perfect strangers with unknown intentions.

So there we were, me, Jazzy, and the racoon. I wasn’t keen on taking on roommates, and I kind of like using my balcony without feeling like I have to ask permission. So the animal had to go – it had to be made to feel very very unwelcome.

“Don’t kill it dad!”

I looked at Jazz somewhat stunned. Kill a racoon? Me? What kind of a dad did she take me for? I’m a big wuss when it comes to being mean. If only the racoon was a computer glitch of some sort – then I could get downright snarly at it. But this creature was furry, and had really big sad eyes.

I rattled some furniture about and the racoon just looked at me, with its head kind of tilted sideways.

“Leave!” I said it with an exclamation mark.

The racoon continued looking at me.

“Go!” Another exclamation mark.

I moved the chair the racoon was hiding behind.

“What are you doing! Stop it dad!”

The racoon made a bee-line for my bbq. Not the bbq! Dammit! I wanted to cook burgers later! I suddenly was reminded of my battle with a pair of pigeons back in Regina. At least this animal was silent.

I resolved to leave the racoon with no shelter, pulling the bbq to the middle of my balcony, slamming the door shut, and watching the creature from behind my window. Jazzy continued to watch from behind hers. Big stare off. With a racoon.

It was still there 20 minutes later. My tummy grumbled. Burgers needed to be cooked. And I wondered what racoon would taste like.

“Dad!”

At first I wondered if I thunk the thought out loud, and my daughter was about to scold me. But then I saw it too.

The racoon was moving. Looking for a way out. It crawled down the side of the house and it was gone. It was really gone.

And then I cooked burgers.

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