I would have set my sights on catching cats, ants, or possum if I had known how difficult it would be to catch a raccoon. The local "Critter Getter" dropped a few cages off last week for the relocation project after my vet confirmed the high risk of rabies from local raccoon populations. Sure, I shared a cabin in Michigan with one that nested in the ceiling, but there's just something more threatening about a 'coon strolling in unexpectedly through the cat door to enjoy a snack. Even vampires need an invitation before entering your home.
I had the easier task of drinking beer and performing hourly cat checks, while Robert put canned mackeral in the strategically placed cages around the house. I felt slightly cruel when I discovered the possum trapped in the middle of the night, hissing and spitting, but felt worse when the drama queen cut his chin, stuck out his tongue, and played dead. Thankfully, we didn't attempt to bury the faker.
This morning, the masked bandit was finally outmanuevered. By the light of dawn, I peeked out the window and watched him lying on his back, fiddling with the cage as though hanging out in an oversized Rubik's Cube. Cute little varmint. The Critter Getter picked up the cage and moved him while I was at work, but I'm hoping his new place has a view and plenty of cat food.