At night the raccoon comes. I hear her outside the kitchen window, if Ive forgotten to bring in the birdfeeder. She climbs up the screens, and inserts herself into the narrow tube and hoovers out all the seed. Or tears the feeder off its hook and wrangles it under the porch and snorts the seed. Ive seen her beautiful masked dark-eyed face, sliding out of sight off the edge of the porch as she sees me, Ive seen her swinging for a moment in the dark as I turn on the kitchen light, remembering that Ive forgotten to bring in the feeder, then seeing it swing, empty, as the bushes below move and rustle. In the morning, after the rain, there are small brown marks, neat five-fingered prints, that show where she padded across the porch on her nocturnal journey. One night I heard her under the deck, when I brought in the feeder: a low, serious growl, to show she was there, and real.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Jul 2014 18:02:41 +0000
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