Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Horror of Entrapment

I woke at three AM to the sound of screaming. For a bleary moment I wondered if I was hearing one of the murders I only write about. But the keening went on and on, loud as could be. Was something being attacked by a predator? But the predator would eventually put it out of its misery, and this was an endless litany. Finally my husband trudged downstairs and outside to follow the eerie sound.

He returned to tell me that someone had trapped a raccoon in a cage--someone only three doors down--and the raccoon was telling everyone, at the top of his little bandit lungs, how much he disliked this reality.

This morning he is still there; perhaps they are waiting for the forestry people to come and pick him up. He's still yelling--don't animals get hoarse? And although I sympathize with anyone who has a raccoon problem, I can't help but look at it from his point of view. The Poe-like horror of entrapment; the knowledge that nothing good can come of this (at least not from the raccoon's point of view). But I suppose that's the writer in me. I'm tempted to go down there and beg them to let him out of the cage, if only to stop his caterwauling.

On the other hand, I let my dog out this morning and found that another raccoon had spread my garbage across my lawn. So maybe it's better if they do get relocated to the woods . . .

9 comments:

Brian said...

I'm commenting on your blog. Are you happy now?

Brian said...

The last thing I need now is another NEEDY author. Right, Jess?

Julia Buckley said...

Am I happy? The question is, will I ever be happy? And what is happiness, really, Brian?

I love the moody photo, by the way.

Bill Cameron said...

You never comment on my blog, Brian.

/weeps and hides under the couch

Julia Buckley said...

Yeah, Brian. What have you got against Bill?

Bill Cameron said...

Yeah, Brian. I'm waiting. From under the couch. Weeping. (And it's not very comfortable. Someone seems to have scootched half a banana under here rather than take the time to walk into the kitchen and throw it away. Gross.)

Julia Buckley said...

Bill, I'm betting it's the boy. Mine don't throw food away, either.

Bill Cameron said...

Probably was the boy. He doesn't watch himself, I'm gonna crush valium in his water bowl.

Brian said...

Is it a conspiracy? Midnight Ink authors sent specifically to drive me nuts? I'm going to go request that I work with Flux titles only. At least I can send the YA authors to their rooms.