2 a.m. last night, Bella started barking her head off at the back door. I sat straight up in bed, looked at Andrew and said "raccoon!". We had a raccoon friend visit several times two winters ago. He would frequent our screen porch through the dog door, looking to snack on the cat food we keep out there for our two outdoor cats. I even got several photos of him waddling in and out of the patio, searching for kibble. We called animal control one day when he was on the porch and would not leave. They told us it was really our problem and to just give him time and he'd leave. And they get paid to do what exactly?
Anyway.
2:01 a.m. last night. Andrew flies down the stairs in his underwear, and finds a weapon. A golf club. And if any of you have witnessed my husbands golf game, you'll agree a club in his hand could be fatal. He goes onto the screen porch and finds not a raccoon, but a possum. A snarling nasty old possum, looking for an all you can eat buffet of Purina Cat Chow. He pokes at it with the club. It growls and backs up into a corner. The dog is inside going wild. He finally got it to leave. I don't know what probably scared it more - the psychotic frothing dog, or Andrew's 6 foot frame wearing his skivvies flailing a golf club in the air.
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