Matt was traveling for work.  I was home alone after dark sitting in the living room when I heard a noise.  A noise I can’t quite describe, but it is the sound of horror films—a metallic scratching and thudding.  My heart jumped to my throat because I knew I was going to die.  This was definitely the sound from the movies right before someone gets it, and I was hearing it in real life.  Who would do this to torture me?  Had I locked all the doors?  I was pretty sure I had.

I followed the noise, not knowing whether that was the right move.  I tiptoed through the house in a terror trance.  The noise pulled me through the kitchen into what we call the brick room because it has a brick floor.  The noise grew louder, but I still couldn’t see anything in the dark.  And then I noticed, clawing their way up the screens of our windows, three raccoons.  It had been an oddly warm October day, so I’d opened the windows.  I had visions of the raccoons tearing a hole in the screen and entering the house.  I slowly closed the windows.  The raccoons were unfazed.  The fell off and climbed up again.  They circled the room which has three exterior walls and sat outside the door taunting me.

These raccoons have been living under our bedroom.  Earlier that day I’d had multiple contractors at the house to try and figure out how we can keep the raccoons out and put the insulation they tore out back.  I think the critters know.  And they are saying, “If you come after our house, we’ll come after yours.”  I was grateful not to die that night.  Death by raccoon doesn’t seem like a good way to go.