Coon wars, Part 3...maybe Part 4

The commencement of September means there are only a few weeks until autumn is officially here. And with fall just around the corner that means Nature is plodding her strategy to vigorously shake us out of our bleached-out, summer slumberings. She accomplishes this task in a variety of ways: suddenly, you need a jacket to leave the house; it gets dark earlier without so much as a gentle warning; the air is cold and damp before 10 a.m.; the leaves under your feet aren't green anymore; it goes on and on.

Collectively, all these signals tell you the fall season will be here quite soon. However, the very recent and tactile memories of carefree summer afternoons and evenings of lingering strolls keep one from really processing those signals. For me, I was in this summer-don't-go coma until just last night. While surfing the Internet around 12:30 a.m., which I do a lot, I heard a curious clamor of small feet on my rooftop. First the noises seems sporadic, but soon grew to an alarming intensity.

After thinking about it for a second, I was reminded of a succession of similar events that happened last winter. Yes, the raccoon army had made its bold return to Bateman Street. I hadn't heard a peep from the varmits in nearly 9 months, so their chaotic return kind of threw me off. These particular animals are *winter activated raccoons - meaning they are less of a nuisance and more self-sufficient for foraging during the summer (eat from trash bins, melted ice cream sandwiches people leave on the sidewalk, spilt popcorn in the driveway, community vegetable gardens, etc.). However, when the weather changes, they quickly resort to military-style tactics to feed and entertain themselves. People who leave out pet food, like I do for our ugly calico cat, are their first targets of the changing season. The cooler weather emboldens these beasts to engage in cavalier antics - and the porchstep is their preferred forum.

From what I could hear, there must have been three adults on the roof and two scout coons on my front porch. It sounded like they were jumping in and out of our recycle bin, too. In the morning, the evidence was plain as day: a muddied water bowl (raccoons lack salivary glands and need a water source to eat anything), raccoon pawprints everywhere, and a sparkling clean pet food bowl. Also, they made off with a tuna can lid I'd recently placed in the recycle bin.

Damn Berkeley coons, they think they can intimidate! So wrong they are. I wonder if the tool lending library loans out coon traps?

*coon term originated by author; It is not actual terminology commonly used to describe city-living raccoons.