I heard a bang in the night.
Something was out at the car.
I pulled on the blue fuzzy bathrobe
and grabbed the old walnut
police baton.
My head swam with the white and red
wine of the evening and I felt swollen and gassy from those
last three pieces of apple cake.
There were thirty-seven of them on top of the car.
I had stopped feeding the racoons since the recession
and now I had a rebellion on my hands.
The one I called Lester had been my first.
He was unusually small and missing his left eye.
He blinked, burped and leaped towards me.
I twirled to the right and batted him into a patch of sorel.
Then they all began to leap.
Two or three of them got a hold of my fuzzy bathrobe.
“Iiiiiii!” I squealed as the claws dug in and I sank down in the driveway.
