I fought with a raccoon in our garage last night. I don't know how the little bastard got in, but I can report that - after an epic battle involving a hose, pepper spray and a golf ball retriever - the little bastard is still there. I'm at work, meanwhile, waiting to hear from the raccoon removal guy.I know how yer feelin', Warrin'. Them raccoons is crafty ol' devils. Way craftier'n that other ol' devil yer fightin' - Inspector Normy.
A couplafew weeks ago, I wrote me sum boog stories 'bout the damn squirrels in the walls an' attic o' my shack. I figgered it was squirrels on accounta we had 'em here before. Shee-it! One time, we even had one walk upstairs outta the basement an' inta the dinin' room. Anuther time, I was eyeball t' eyeball with one of 'em that was settin' on top o' the frigerator. I ain't sayin' what happened next on accounta I don't want any troublems with the squirrel rights activists.
Well, what I thought was squirrels turned out t' be a big ol' coon. T'other day, the lezzy gals next door come by an' sed there's sum little fingers pokin' outta the vent shutter up near the peak o' the roof. Sure enuff, there was.
We counted up the kiddies an' figgered out it weren't one o' them stuck in the attic. I went upstairs with a stepladder an' poked my head through the trap door. Yeow! I was eyeball t' eyeball with a jumbo-sized ringtailed rascal. I figgered mebbe the bestest thing was t' get the 22 an' shoot the sumbitch. Ma din't think so. Neither did the lezzy gals.
Everybuddy sed mebbe it was a MamaCoon an' mebbe she had herself a nest o' baby ringtails an' if I was t' shoot the mama, the little darlin' orphans'd die an' stink t' high heaven. Jest like ol' Kinseller sez he done, Ma called in the varmint movers.
After that coon caught a glimpse o' my mizzable face, we din't hear a peep from the attic or the walls but a few days later the feller come by t' do the perfeshional movin' job. I ain't kiddin' when I sez I thought it was Dalton Ginty knockin' on my door. That pest remover was the spittin' image only he sed his name was Mark.
Almost $400 later, he come down outta the attic an' sed there ain't any coon babies an' no bigass coon up there, neither. He reckoned the critter got in through a roof fan we put up there a few years back an' he set up a one-way door contraption t' let anythin' out but not t' let 'em back in.
My advice t' Warrin' is t' fergit 'bout callin' Dalton Ginty's twin brother. Jest get on the horn t' sum o' yer Libranos buddies an' have 'em drop by yer garage fer a bit o' pistol practice.
Yores trooly,
JimBobby
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