So the big raccoon was trapped on Monday night, remember? And remember that comment I made that I could have checked whether the creature was a he or a she? Might have been a good idea.
Thursday night (3 whole days after the raccoon was trapped) we were in the back yard when we started to hear this terrible noise. Sort of like a flock of angry birds. But screechier. And more grating. It was coming from the shed below the deck where the other raccoon was found. Medman had a terrible suspicion and as myself and 3 kids (we were babysitting a couple friends) sheltered inside the sliding glass door, Medman bravely pulled open the door of the shed. Then he put on big gardening gloves and pulled out FIVE BABY raccoons. Tiny ones. Hmmmm, apparently the adult raccoon we trapped then tortured on Tuesday was a new mama. That makes me feel much better.
Judging from my extensive quarter-of-an-hour-Googling research, these little guys were about 2 weeks old. They mostly kept their eyes shut, had no teeth, and were incredibly weak and pathetic. Called animal control to come get them and guess what? They don't work after 5pm. Yes, baby raccoons, we see that you are actually moments from starvation, death by dehydration and your mother was ripped away from you, but hang tight in this cage for the next 15 hours and someone will rescue you.
(Raccoons screeching deafeningly and clawing each other blindly.)
Medman: I have milk right here. Get over here.
(Raccoons screeching deafeningly and clawing each other blindly while ignoring the offered milk.)
Medman: SHUT UP! Open your mouth.
(Louder screeching. I go inside to escape the noise. Raccoons ignoring the offered eye dropper and licking spilled milk off each others backs while still screeching.)
Medman: Shut up! Get over here. Stop doing that. Are you stupid? Right here. No, open your mouth. Will you guys shut up???
It was truely heart warming.
The next morning, after ignoring several suggestions by Medman to take them to the Walmart parking lot and sell them as pets for $50 each, we got Animal Control to come and take them. After all, who would want raccoons for a pet? We could have been $250 richer. Turns out Mr. Animal Control did indeed raise two baby raccoons once. Named them. Fed them from a bottle. Made them a tree house.
And that knowledge made my lean-to look much more normal.
On second thought, I'm comparing myself to the crazy Animal Control guy. Just more normal than crazy doesn't necessarily make me normal.
I sure hope our raccoon adventures are done.