August 3rd, 2003

Tom Lehrer is Smug

the last HILARIOUS! on here

I created a new LJ and called it hilariouscomic and will be putting new comics up on there for the time being while I consider actually making a site for them. They continue to amuse me so I continue to make them. Feel free to add hilariouscomic to your friends list and get SEVEN NEW FRIENDS ENTRIES IN A ROW because I forgot to backdate them; mutual friends get SPECIAL BENEFITS but I don't know what they are yet. Maybe a big kiss. I said I don't know.

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Tom Lehrer is Smug


Interlopers! Abutters! Squatters! Transients! Raccoons!

Abbie flipped out early this morning around 4:30 or so. I had my deck door open to catch the cross-breeze and the night was rather nice. Abbie started jumping on the screen door, putting his paws up on the lower pane (which, thankfully, is some kind of plastic amalgamation and not a screen) and yammering excitedly and stuff. Normally he doesn't do the Gotta Go Out Dance, as he prefers to just sit by the door and make his escape if you open it up, so I realized something wasn't right.

So I got the flashlight and peered out the door and lo and behold there, on my third-story deck, were two raccoons. The larger of the two hissed at me and ran under the overturned sofa (long story, not my sofa, I want it gone) while the other one kept washing his little paws in some water that had collected in the plastic tarp. He didn't seem to care that I was shining the light DIRECTLY AT HIM. Abbie, meanwhile, had bypassed Nuts entirely and gone straight for Apeshit at this point, and was bound and determined to tunnel under the door if necessary to get at these interlopers.

Not that he could've done anything, really -- he's a creampuff. Martha, on the other hand, would've held her own quite easily against at least one pissed-off raccoon. One time in Reading when they discovered how to escape out a basement window, I watched little tiny Martha corner two big rough-and-tumble outdoor strays under a woodshed. She's a bad-ass cat. But not Abbie. Abbie cries if he can't find his way out of a paper bag.

Not wishing to pit any of the residents of the third floor against the raccoons, I tried to drive the raccoons away by banging on the screen door and hissing back at them. It didn't really work and the little raccoon showed me that he was leaving when he felt good and ready ... which, of course, was about forty-five seconds after I told him to go.

Really not sure why they bothered to climb up three flights of stairs to get to my deck, which has one (1) overturned sofa, one (1) ancient paint can, and one (1) cinder block resting on one (1) plastic tarp. Absolutely no foodstuff whatsoever. Perhaps the second floor neighbors have some food or garbage left out there, and the coons thought well hell, while we're in the neighborhood...

I named the big one Fuck You, as that's what he said to me, and I named the little one Go Away, as that's what I said to him. It will be interesting to see if they come back.