I awoke to the sound of footsteps on my roof. I looked at my son snoozing soundly to my left, next at my husband sleeping peacefully to my right, and then to the clock – 1:38 a.m. They didn’t hear it; I must have dreamed that. Back to zzz… WAIT! There it is again! There are pictures of my son on the internet and someone is here to kidnap him. White, hot fear washed over me. When I woke John, he confirmed it. Someone or something was out there and by the sound of it, trying to get in.
It must have been the mother-protector in me that made me go over to the window and whip it open without a plan. “Who’s out there?” I yelled out onto the roof that extends from our bedroom window, but there was no answer. Apparently, this kidnapper freak wasn’t going to show himself. I was looking aghast at John who (sorry for blowing up your spot on the interweb, babe) was just as terrified as I was and that’s when he saw it.
“It’s a raccoooooon!” he yelled. “WHAT??!?!??!!” I screamed back as I slammed the window shut, locked it, and drew the shade all in a nano-second. Somehow in my delusional middle of the night state, this was an even scarier scenario than a person. I quizzed John for the next while: How big was it? How’d you know it was a raccoon? Where on the roof was it? It was pretty darn big. It had white around its eyes. It was about four feet from the window. And I didn’t want to look out there again, he promised me.
The next hour or so was spent texting all of our friends who have more of a social life than we do and who might still be up. Is this normal? Can it get in? What do we do? I wanted to call my Dad, but I stifled the urge. John’s big bro got back to us that we’d be okay. We didn’t believe him. We may or may not have attempted to call the animal control officer of our local police department too. I’m not admitting that we did, but I will say this: Can you believe he’s not on duty at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night?!
After sufficiently horrifying myself by over googling and google-imaging raccoon on roof, raccoons in your home, raccoons in the attic, and learning that they only need a hole four inches wide to find a way inside, I spent the rest of the night in and out of a light sleep, jumping at every house creak. John spent his night wide awake, diligently protecting his family with a razor blade and vacuum attachment, and cursing his wife for making him move to the ‘burbs. This raccoon kept us up more than our newborn baby who still nurses every two hours has to date… Not cool, dude.
After about four or five hours of trying to get into our home, we think the jerk left and as far as we know hasn’t come back. But it’s like he keeps sending me signs so that I can’t forget about him completely.
There’s that picture of the raccoon on our nursery wall.
And there’s the one hidden in Desmond’s rug that his Nana made him.
And then out of nowhere Des demands I dress him in this outfit he never wanted to wear before that terrifying night…