There is a raccoon up the tree across the street. I wouldn’t have known except for the incessant screaming of the crow perched up higher in the tree. That dude was mad about that raccoon. I couldn’t tell if it was a baby raccoon or just, you know, raccoons are small, but I considered his situation while I watered the garden and the crow continued to scream. I wondered if he had been doing something wrong or if he was lost or if he was injured. I wondered if he would wait until dark to climb down and away. I wondered if that damn crow would ever stop screeching. We get it, crow! There’s a raccoon in the tree! But, as with anything one ponders too long, I ended up creating an elaborate backstory for this raccoon. I had been worried that he had been left there by his family when the crows started hollering. But then I figured his Mama Raccoon had probably told him a million times to stick by her and not go climbing trees after crows nests because those fuckers are not to be messed with. But did he listen? Oh no, he did not. And so now, natural consequences, buddy. Mama Raccoon was like, “I have to get to Superstore before it closes” and he was like, “They’re open late! Wait!” But she wasn’t having it and savoured the time alone on her way to Superstore, worried thoughts of him creeping in, in spite of her steely tough love, distracting her from the clearance rack and the Joe Fresh pyjama bottoms she probably didn’t need but they were on sale. But she’d warned him and she’d tried to protect him and now she had to let him spend the day in a tree being screamed at by crows and maybe even all night too but, damn it, that’s how some people need to learn, isn’t it?
I may be projecting.