She always wears a mask but she’s not fooling me. She began to eat my house a week or so ago, nibble by nibble, crunch by crunch. It may take her a while but she seems to relish her work.
Apparently her lively social schedule allows her only a short while each morning, starting around 4:00ish in which to eat my house. I have only caught one glimpse of her but she has no doubt seen me, smelled me, and heard me numerous times.
Sandy and I awake to the sound of munching just above the exit door in our bedroom. We lie in the dark and listen to the unmistakable gnawing until I finally get up, turn on the porch light, and go outside to engage in another round of “Are you smarter than a raccoon?” So far the score is tilted in favor of the raccoon. I can’t even find where the dirty deed is being done. She seems to have found some secret spot where my house is most vulnerable and from which she remains virtually un-seeable.
Last night was typical. The first attack came at 4:37. I geared up at once to engage in full combat. Porch light on. Up and out. I grabbed the long-handled leaf scoop and began banging around the general area where I think the wily varmint is performing her dastardly deed. Silence. Have I run her off? I hope so. Back in bed, four minutes later, I discover the awful truth.
We danced our little dance five times between 4:37 and 5:30. The game was finally called because of rain, which began at 5:30. I’m losing sleep. I keep dozing off at the keyboard. I hope she gets a splinter in her tongue.
Today I’m calling someone who has a trap!