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The raccoons are coming

August 8, 2024   ·   0 Comments

By JAMES MATTHEWS

Has the uprising begun?

I’ve been saying for years it’s going to happen and people have laughed heartily. But this latest incident is too close to home to be disregarded. In fact, this latest incident happened at home.

Where my children play. Where I’ve stretched out with a book and a beer in the spring and fall tolerable warmth and perhaps even dozed occasionally.

My son and I woke Friday morning to a rather large raccoon snoozing on the back deck furniture, stretched out there as if he helped pay the bills. Its face was nuzzled into the back cushions and the tail was concealed by its arse.

“That’s an odd looking cat, Dad.”

“I’ve never seen that cat in our backyard before,” I said.

It’s common for neighbourhood cats to traipse along atop the fence or lay on the grass in the shade of the rose of Sharon or the crab apple tree we have growing out there. Rabbits have taken siestas there. Shells of hatched robin eggs have been found in the grass beneath some of the sturdier trees.

The animal stretched, rolled over, and the mask across the two eyes was plainly visible.

They have fingers and thumbs, man. And they can think, solve problems. There isn’t a raccoon-proof garbage can lid they can’t figure out the trick of and break in. I’m certain it won’t be long before they’re piloting bombers over cities and towns as part of the uprising.

A few choice words were said. Ones that can’t be repeated in a family newspaper, but you can imagine what they were. The raccoon begrudgingly slinked off the backyard couch, walked a few steps, and looked back at me long and hard as if he’ll remember me. It found a way to get under the deck.

“You know what Mom says. You have to put another quarter in the swear jar.”

The swear jar began in my household with a $1 penalty per transgression. Then with the cost of everything these days and I don’t own a grocery store chain awash in profit, the fine was decreased to a quarter per colourful utterance.

Concessions have to be made to the economy.

But back to last Friday and a matter bigger than the swear jar. It was proof of something I’ve dreaded, the fear sprung from the certainty that the uprising is in the offing. And it’s not without precedent, despite the mocking laughter I’ve ensured when trying to warn loved ones and neighbours.

In May 2017, a raccoon was discovered in an opening in the suspended ceiling tiles at Pearson International Airport. Gathering intelligence, no doubt. Getting the lay of the country’s largest airport.

In March, a raccoon walked into a Toronto-area McDonald’s. I can’t imagine why, but it was documented in the media. Likely trying to stoke familiarity.

Just last week a raccoon hitched a ride aboard a Toronto subway train. And it was not the first time one was found on the subway or even inside Union Station.

“So we’re getting out of Dodge,” I said as I shoved the bedroom door. The missus is a registered nurse and the kids have her sleep late after her four days of 14 hours work.

“Newfoundland is the safest place,” I said. “So we’re going back. There isn’t a single raccoon on the island.”

Somebody brought one aboard the rock once as a family pet. It wasn’t long before the whole family was driven to the ferry terminal in Port aux Basques and put on the boat to the mainland. They’re still spoken about periodically, but it’s only in hushed whispers.

It’s too bad, in its way. They were nice enough folk, that family. Sweethearts, really. The risk was just too great.

“The suitcases still in the garage loft? Pack only what we’ll need. I’ll come back with Uncle Dave in a couple months, depending on what’s to happen, and we’ll pack everything in a truck.”

“Just Google how to get rid of the animal, James,” she said. “And you owe the jar about $1.75. Don’t think I didn’t hear you because you were downstairs.”

Then she rolled over in the bunk.

And that’s how she’s the resolve and the voice of strength in our house.

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