So last night, I had one of those heart-pounding moments where I heard thumps in the night that jolted me awake.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump. “Someone” walking on gravel.
I sat in bed and listened for a few minutes to make sure I actually heard it and was not just falling victim to an overactive imagination that was churning out scary experiences just in time for Halloween.
Silence + Kenny’s breathing.
Silence + Kenny’s breathing.
Then…a few more thumps and few more minutes of “someone” walking on gravel. That’s it. Time to call in a knight in shining armor.
I leaned over to wake Kenny. I had to be delicate and get him not to yell. No easy feat, because typically, when I wake him in the middle of the night it’s for things like ‘oh, honey, there’s a bird flying around our bedroom, can you get it, please?’ (true story, except is was a bat…back in Pennsylvania, and my reaction definitely was much more frantic than what I typed) or ‘Gavin got sick, can you help me move him?’, and his natural reaction is to yell loudly – typically something like “What?” or “What’s happening?”. (Totally understandable.) Knowing this, I shook him gently and said ‘Shhh!’ and put my finger over my mouth. He sat up and looked at me. I said, “Shhhh. I think there’s someone walking around our backyard. But be quiet so you can hear it before we do anything to make sure I am not making it up.” Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Kenny nodded. Yep, it was really real now that someone other than me heard it.
He started heading downstairs while I did some covert ops to sneakily peer out the window to see if I could see anything.
I saw a raccoon right at my bedroom window looking in at me. And we had the window open. So there was really only some lightweight wire between me and Rocky.
I whispered loudly to Kenny, “Oh, never mind. It’s a racoon. He’s standing right here looking at me.” Kenny came trotting back in the room – “Oh yea! Check him out!”. Then we saw another. And another.
It was pretty dark, so we went down stairs (after I closed the bedroom window, which did not phase them in the least) and turned on the lights in the yard to see if we could get a better view. We did. And saw that there were five. FIVE raccoons hanging out on the trellis that hangs over the patio.
What were they doing?
That’s right, folks. We had five raccoons hanging out on our trellis eating grapes. At 3:00 a.m. And yes, they were so noisy, I thought we were being robbed. Technically, I guess we were. Robbed of grapes.
I couldn’t get good pictures through the windows / screens. Maybe a more nature-y person would have opened them went outside to get better pictures. Me? Not so much. I am a city girl. And while these raccoons were super cute – I am smart. I know those things have hand-like paws with sharp nails and pointy teeth. No thanks. I will sacrifice picture quality to save myself. Selfish, I know.
It appeared there were two older raccoons and three younger ones. One was huge! Huge! We watched them for 45 minutes before they headed out. While I wasn’t thrilled they were eating the grapes, they were pretty funny to watch – they scooped their little hands down and pulled up a bunch at a time. Then they’d rest and hang their tails over the trellis. Or cuddle on the roof.
Here are some bad pics of the action.
We told Gavin and Grace about the raccoons this morning and shared the pictures. Gavin thought they were neat and asked if they ate ALL of the grapes. Nope. And Grace was mad we didn’t wake her. “Why didn’t I see them?” Me: “You were sleeping, sweetie.” Well, I can wake up.” Nice. Yes, yes, you can, Grace. Good call. You can wake up. But not at 3 a.m.
Luckily, there are plenty of grapes left. I told Farmer Ken he can pick them tonight. His response: “Screw that. I am calling my buddies back – that was fun.” Sort of fun. It was 3:00 a.m. after all. And they were eating our grapes. And, I am pretty sure we don’t want to make feeding them a habit.
I am curious to see if they come back tonight.
In the meantime, I need some company in humming Rocky Raccoon as I’ve been doing all day.
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