The area behind my house is a treacherous mishap of ill-advised fences, decaying trees, a little pond and bowls of cat food (next door), a roof that slopes down quite low, an overhang that I swear is one day going to hang so precariously that it will simply fall off the house, a shed that’s built onto the side of the house and, like many things that are a part of this structure that has my name on it, is just off enough to render the call of should it stay or should it go impossible to make. It does prevent people from creeping from the front of my house to the back, which is a mixed blessing. At the same time, the underside of it is completely open – I’ll be damned if I know why – so animals, particularly possums, have not only a nice route away from the light and danger of the street but a protected resting area as well. And the roof of the shed slopes upward in such a way that if you were a creature blessed with the ability to leap, it’s a nice springboard to the roof of the house. Best of all, it’s not quite wide of enough to at least serve the one purpose I’d like it to. To put the lawn mower away or take it out requires lifting the entire thing and turning it to the side and then squeezing through the door. I know I dramatize and overreact to almost everything, but each and every time I’ve hoisted the lawn mower in and out my thoughts have carried me back to the afternoon I signed the stack of papers for this house, and in my mind I picture myself quietly and wordlessly taking my cigarette lighter out of my front pocket and burning each and every one of them. I’d be happy to pay the fines.
The other night, there was more rustling, then a pause, followed by more. It was not a possum. Possums have the most impressive size-to-sound ratio of any creature I’ve encountered thus far. Perhaps a cat, I thought hopefully. Then I pressed my face to the door and there, peering around the corner of the house as it perched on the top of the shed, was a big furry shadow and two little bright eyes. Get the fuck out of here, I yelled, making enough of an impression that the animal withdrew its head and scampered on up to the corrugated metal that extends a few feet behind the house. And from there, to the roof.
I turned on every light in the house and turned the water off. Then I went out the front door and stood in the street for a better look. And there, along the fence behind the house next door was another moving mass of fur and behind that, in a lit window, the guy who lives in the house behind me walking back and forth, oblivious to the terror.
My neighbor, a friend of his and I ended up standing in the street just beyond the driveway we share, where we watched the two raccoons roll and shimmy up and down the western slope of my roof. “Ahhh,” my neighbor’s friend cooed, “they’re mating.” A few minutes later they jumped into the car and drove off to a holiday gathering – the loving had not lasted long, and once it was over the raccoons ambled off to tend to whatever business it is raccoons tend to. And I came back inside and resumed the running of the bath and enjoyed the remainder of the blessedly quiet and peaceful evening.
