The Raccoons Are Back

The raccoons are back,
watching me through the window, waiting for me to refill the cats’ bowls.

The mother sits on our teak chest at the window and squeaks her sleek, black paw pads down the glass. Does she do this on purpose? Can she know how irritating that sounds, guaranteed to make me look?

My nightly visitors bring a muddied porch,
frog intestines and dirty water bowl
for the cats. Somehow I can’t deny their begging.
Breaking all my wildlife rules, I feed them anyway.
I can see the babies clinging headfirst as they make their way back down the spruce to join their mother at this easy bounty.

I listen to their whistles and scuffling as they eat. Ceramic bowls tipped and shoved; aluminum pie tins overturned, scattered kibble.

Exhausted, I can’t seem to find the will to leave the scene, go upstairs and lay down in bed. Like the unwanted visitors I seem to be breeding, I am paralyzed by the ever-expanding clutter in the house:
The home and garden magazines, the memorabilia: Old birthday and Christmas cards, tickets stubs to Cirque du Soleil.
Remnants of my old home office, bills paid long ago, check registers waiting to be balanced.
A stack of credit card offers waiting to be shredded and pictures of the children, never mailed out to their adoring aunts and uncles.
A box of recyclables to share with my son’s pre-school class for art projects this fall; misplaced toys and Velcro curlers,
a camera case sans camera.
Rubber stamps and scrapbooking supplies.
Spent batteries awaiting a toxic waste recycling day,
scraps of paper with forgotten phone numbers and messages and expired coupons littering the kitchen counter.

Some mornings I feel a sense of hopefulness and start in on a pile here, a stack there. Perhaps I’ll clear off the counter today. By 10 I’m distracted by the kids, a phone call,
a forgotten appointment or errand.
I run out the door, purse in hand,
baby in the car seat, son running ahead. I trip over the dirty cat dishes
and spill the muddied water.

Noticing the dishes are empty, I turn back and fill them once again. I rinse out the water dish and fill it with cool, clear water.
Washing my hands for fear of rabies, I gather my load and lock up the house,
heading out again
leaving the wreckage behind.