When a Raccoon Decides to Move-In

When a Wild Animal becomes your Nightmare, it ends with an empty bag of chips.

It began innocently enough when my 7-year-old son came to our bedroom and complained that he heard "scratches" in his bedroom.

"Dad, I'm hearing scratching behind the wall." He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and his forefinger in his mouth. His eyes hinted that he was scared. I thought that this was the making of an overactive imagination.

"Are you sure? Let's go and see," I said. It was getting late, and I was getting tired. All I could think about was waking up early at 5 AM for work. I swept up my little boy into my arms, and I carried him into his bedroom. I playfully bounced him onto the middle of the bed, tugged the blanket from beneath him, and wrapped him underneath, hoping the tucking of his blanket would make him feel safe and secure. I stayed with him for a moment and told him he would be alright. I kissed him on the forehead and tousled his hair with my hand. I left the room and turned off his light.

The next day I came home after work, my son ran up to me and gave me a big hug, but strangely, he didn't let go. I picked him up, not realizing what was going on. I thought at first he had done something naughty at school and had not the heart to confess to me for fear of retribution. I carried him from the kitchen and sat down on the couch. I sat him down next to me and asked him, "How was school?".