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We had a racoon living in our chimney.
Residing in a town of about 10,000, I was amazed. I didn’t think
these things happened in “the city”. I called Animal Control and was
told I would have to drive the 20 miles to our county seat and
borrow a live trap. Just a bit embarrassed, I held my head high as I
walked out of the courthouse carrying a trap with more than a little
manure left over from whatever was trapped in there last. People in
suits and high heels gave me proper leeway as I trudged through
their lines lugging the stinky, rusty cage. So much for self-pride.
At home, I spent two weeks baiting the trap with marshmallows, cat
food, fruit, vegetables, candy, etc. I put it in the front yard. I
towed it to the back yard. I put it on the roof. I placed the
ghastly thing north, south, east and west to no avail. At night, I
would go out and look about 9 p.m. and there was my masked friend
leering at me from my chimney. I would shine my flashlight in its
face and literally get mooned by the varmint. I didn’t see it for a
couple of nights. Assuming it was gone, we had the chimney covered
with #10 hardware wire. This was midafternoon on a Monday. Friday at
2 a.m. we heard a ruckus.
Thinking the racoon was in the attic, we jumped out of bed. I didn’t
take time to put on my glasses, and we decided to leave the lights
off inside the house and turn on all the outside lights to see if
the darn thing ran out of the attic. We ran from window to window
trying to see if it would run across the yard. My big, gray cat
Henry kept running right beside me. A couple of times I brushed him
aside with my foot, while I constantly scolded him. Mac finally
asked me why I kept yelling at Henry because he had locked the dog
and the cat in our bedroom. The hair stood up on the back of my neck
and I about fainted. We turned on the light to be face to face with
the racoon looking up at us from the dining room floor. I screamed.
Mac swore. The racoon chattered and the race was on.
The racoon tore down curtain rods,
picture frames, broke lamps, destroyed our home in any way it could.
I tried to call 911 but couldn’t see because I didn’t have my
glasses on. I screamed at Mac to dial, which he did then threw the
phone to me.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“I have a racoon tearing my house apart”
“A what?”
“A racoon is tearing my house apart!!!”
“In your home?”
Even in my frenzied state, I thought him a bit daft and told him so.
He wasn’t pleased.
“’Ma’am. If you don’t calm down, I’m calling an ambulance.”
I hysterically told him what he could do with the ambulance and I
needed help with a wild creature in my house. It was not my finest
moment of articulation.
“A squad car is on the way.”
Our neighborhood is lovely and quiet. No one is up at 2 a.m. We have
every outdoor light and indoor light we own on plus I have a
flashlight in hand. I’m screaming like a little girl while doing the
pee-pee dance. I wanted to make sure the police came to our house
and not the totally dark and quiet homes of our sleeping neighbors.
Three squad cars pull up. The officers zero in on me dancing and
prancing in my jammers and see the racoon through the window. They
were deciding which was the most dangerous.
“What’s the problem, ma’am?”
Were these men totally dense?!?!
As they approach our kitchen door, they see the racoon by our table
and my pajamaed husband aiming my .22 scoped rifle at it.
“Sir! Sir! It’s the police. Please put the gun down.” they command.
As the first office opens our door, the racoon ambles out.
“Shoot him! Shoot him!” I advise.
“We can’t do that.” They retort.
“Well, you have a pole and a noose. Catch him and put him in the
live cage.” I plead.
They refused. They were biting their lips to keep from laughing. I
was livid.
They came in and searched our house to make sure there wasn’t
another one. It was discovered that the thing had been in the
chimney for four days and then pushed out a metal flu vent. It got
up in our lowered ceiling in the basement and fell through the tile
onto my husband’s desk. It had done a lot of damage down there
before it trotted upstairs and woke us while creating more havoc and
destruction.
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We were assured there was not another
racoon in our house and that with the heavy wire on the chimney we
were safe and sound. We still slept with all the lights on and the
dog and cat in bed with us.
The next morning, we checked the chimney to be sure the wire had
kept it out.
Nope! It had chewed through the
10-gauge wire and was back in our chimney.
Shivers ran through me.
I took my indignant, Irish/Scot temper down to the police station.
The police had the opportunity to live catch it but had refused to
do so. In my opinion, if they had done so I would not be living in
total fear of the racoon attacking me today. I started to state my
problem to the dispatcher when she started laughing and said, “Oh!
You are the hysterical woman on the phone last night with the racoon!
We are all listening and laughing over it.”
I was outraged. I demanded to see an
officer. The radio dispatcher and I will never be friends.
An officer came slinking out to the hall. It was obvious he had
drawn the short straw. He was biting his lip to keep from smiling.
“You think this is funny?” I demand. “How about you help me catch
this racoon and I will set it loose in your house and sit back and
laugh.” I offer.
“Ma’am. It is not our responsibility to get this animal out of your
home.”
“Your responsibility is to keep me safe in my own home and I am not
safe in my own home. If you can’t assist me, your duty is to help me
get someone who can!” I ramble with all the authority of a whiny
child.
Not seeing a smile on his face, but a twinkle in his eye made my
anger grow. I’m not totally stupid, though. I must try another
tactic.
Then I saw it!!!!! God is good!!!! I noticed the officer’s name tag.
“I go to Bible study with your momma.” I inform him. “Do you want me
to call your momma and tell her you are laughing at me over this?
Don’t make me call your momma.” I warned wisely.
That wiped the twinkle right out of his eyes.
“No. Please don’t call my mom,” he pleads.
He gave me the number of an exterminator. I left the police station
with my nose in the air, grasping the precious piece of paper with
the hope of help in my heart.
We went through another sleepless
night as the exterminator can’t come till the next day.
Never has anyone been more anxiously awaited. I literally run out to
his car when he pulled up. I came to a screeching halt as he climbed
out of his vehicle. It was like the Duck Dynasty family had come to
visit. Camo clothes, long hair, headband and all. This was going to
be no ordinary day.
He climbed up and took the remaining wire off the chimney and handed
it to me. It was covered in racoon fur, and I wasn’t as proud of it
as he seemed to be. He had a big stick with a camera on it and
looked down the chimney from the roof and then back up the chimney
from the basement. He deemed the racoon was gone. He surmised it had
been a mama, and she had chewed through the wire to remove her
babies. He restored the wire on the chimney, then steel wool and
even more wire. He declared there is no way she can get back in. I’m
not so sure.
He really was a gentleman and a nice man. He came back the next day
and rechecked the chimney cap. He gave me a rundown on his
experiences with racoons, snakes, skunks, bees, etc. Made my skin
crawl. He loves all God’s critters and traps them live and lets them
loose. God bless him. I just want them out of my home.
We are still cleaning up and fixing up the devastation our mama
racoon caused. We now can shut the lights off at night when we
sleep. We can still hear mama racoon up on our roof at night which
is of no comfort whatsoever.
Mark Twain says, “Life is like a mirror. Smile at it and it will
smile back at you.” End quote.
Perhaps I can see a bit of humor in all this now. But just a bit.
L. Maxine McQueen may be contacted at
maxmac.1@juno.com |
