September 6, 2011

Don't Go On the Roof! Updated!

I have a raccoon problem.

Not in the ‘I can’t quit raccooning, guys- I’m hooked!” kind of way. But in the ‘they are taking over my life and will probably eat my cat’ kind of way.  And I don’t even have a cat.

Last spring, I had the luxury of discovering a dead raccoon fetus on my back porch. As we live on the third floor of a house, it felt a bit like a special delivery. The kind of delivery you’d expect from Satan, or Joan Rivers.
This was shocking and upsetting for two reasons.  1) I stopped eating meat 8 years ago because I had to dissect a fetal pig in high school and wanted to die the whole goddamn time. So it was pretty much like staring trauma directly in its hideous, inbred face. 2) It’s a fucking dead raccoon fetus.

Not knowing how to deal with this situation, I decided to grab the corner of the tarp that was conveniently strewn on the ground beside it, to temporarily cover it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? WRONG. Out of the tarp jumps the biggest raccoon fucker I’ve encountered to date. Probs from the pregnancy weight, but I’m going to judge her anyway. Bitch scared the living shit right out of me.  Worst thing? I was home alone. 

After a few hysterical phone calls and likely several shots, I stood for a long period of time, face pressed up against the glass door, expecting to see the unsuccessfully-covered fetus move. It didn’t… as dead things generally go…  The next day, my roommate and her heroic Irish boyfriend disposed of the body- later telling me they had had another encounter with Bitch-Jumps-Out-of-Tarps, but this time she also had a (living) baby. Hooray! More Raccoons all around! Just what Toronto needs!

A few months later, summer arrives and a fresh-faced 19 year old lad moves in downstairs. Sharing a love of booze, we instantly got along.  One night, he proposes the idea of climbing onto our roof sometime. My roommate agrees this would be a jolly good time, while my first thought was That’s where the raccoons are. They throw their fetuses from above- don’t go up there.  Trying not to sound like a total lunatic, I kept that thought inside and shrugged off the idea, hoping it wouldn’t arise again.

A couple weeks later, the following text message conversation takes place between me and my roommate:

Roommate: We’re thinking of going up on the roof tonight.

Me: Oh man, don’t! Maybe there are raccoon bodies up there!

Roommate: HA! If there are, I’m so getting them taxidermied and using them to scare you constantly.  Oh, what’s in your bed? Oh, what’s in the fridge? Oh, what’s in the oven? RACCOOOOONS.
And then I’m going to make them wear Anne Hathaway masks.*

Me:  I hate you.
*If you don’t get that, you should read this post.

Lesson: Don’t expect your roommate to support your irrational fear of raccoon fetuses. And also, dead raccoons are far more terrifying when you put Anne Hatahaway’s face on them.

Roommate has provided a sample of her upcoming work.

Why yes, that IS a baby raccoon emerging from her stupid chin.


  1. The other night, I heard this weird "whoosh" noise. I looked out the back doors and there were 2 raccoons in my kiddie pool. Just, you know, enjoying summer.

  2. Ha! I hope you brought them a couple cold ones!


    ... and then rent a raccoon costume for hallowe'en. and buy a ticket to toronto. possibly using my expired student discount. and then nest in your collection of pregnant-animal-tarps.

    and it's gonna be awesome.

    or get me arrested. whatev's.

  4. DEAL.
    One slight adjustment to your brilliant plan: Buy the raccoon costume. I think you'll find lots of uses for it. Primarily: Getting drunk in it and dancing for me.
    I love a good drunk raccoon dance.