Okay ... enough with the politics; it's the @ &%$#& raccoons that have my attention today!

Aren't these little rabies-infested critters cute? Bah! Humbug!

Hillary Schmillary! If Mr. Bush can keep the local raccoons out of my bedroom in the middle of my night, I'll move to have the Constitution amended so that he might have another eight years in the White House -- or whatever it takes to allow our grandkids to fight in Iraq to maintain Exxon's stellar stock prices.

Last night, After getting an average of five hours sleep for the previous five (not four as I had predicted) nights, I was awakened to the most horrible meowing and growling sounds imaginable from my seven cats, some of which haven't ever come into the bedroom after they've finished eating their evening's soft cat food dinners. I didn't know what to make of it except that they were all obviously bothered by something worse than they had ever seen. I actually thought they were having one helluva cat fight and decided to stop this nonsense immediately.

Ralph! George, what are you doing downstairs? Patricia! Migod, not you too, Arnold? Andrew! Samantha! Rosie, what are you doing on the bed? I yelled and swung at cats trying to yank and throw them out of the room before I was even half awake. But the noise only got louder and the hissing told me that something was definitely wrong.

I flicked on the lamp I have clipped to the bed stand and could see all seven of the cats were focused on an area behind the washer and dryer in the opposite corner of my bedroom. Even the three kittens were crouched in an attack mode.

It occurred to me that the fellow who (although usually drunk as a skunk) was building the bomb shelter (my new back storage room) onto my house was planning to put a hole through the back wall to allow space for the electric conduit into that room from the fuse box in my bedroom, that something might have gotten into the room. But what? A bird maybe or ... a raccoon! I had no more thought about the possibility of a raccoon than I saw a skinny hairy paw swing out wildly at either George or Ralph who were closest to the washer and dryer.

Yeh!

The next think I saw was the bandit-like face of the raccoon hissing at my beloved cats.

I won't go into details of the next several minutes while I feverishly swatted and yanked the cats one by one, throwing them out of the bedroom away from the critter who had invaded my (and their) sanctity. Not easy, because I was in my skivvies (that's underwear for those of you not in America) and Ralph kept running back into the bedroom every time I'd toss him out. I was by that time aware of the danger of a bite or scratch to either myself or one of my kitties requiring rabies shots and all that that entails.

It was clear to me that the critter had come into my bedroom through a hole behind the washer and dryer (which turned out to be wrong and potentially dangerous) so I quickly got out of the bedroom and filled a spray bottle with liquid bleach and reentered the room armed to chase the raccoon (or raccoons -- I had no idea) out through the same hole he or she had entered from.

That was the beginning of a really serious battle inasmuch as this raccoon had no intention of backing off and tore down some plywood and a couple of two-by-fours that I had placed strategically at the time the washer and dryer were installed so as to keep the cats from getting behind these two large units. I was always nervous about the plumbing and 220 volt electricity back there hurting my cats. It was only when I thought I saw a second set of "bandit eyes" watching the fight from the closet that I knew I was fighting a losing cause -- especially in my underwear!

I retreated again from the room, locking the door with a toggle eye-lock and put some heavier clothes on to avoid being bitten or scratched. My house is in such a shambles what with the construction ongoing and the manner in which the "builder" is clearing the areas he needs to get to, that finding a pair of trousers, some shoes and a shirt wasn't all that easy. Just as was the case with our boys in Iraq, no body armor was available.

I reentered the battle, this time armed with a broom, a lantern and a large spray bottle of Clorox.

But the raccoon or raccoons wasn't/weren't there. I shined the lantern behind the washer and dryer and not only wasn't the raccoon there, neither was the "hole" through which he (or she or they) entered the room. Looking about, I finally discovered that the window was open and there was a gaping hole in the screen. Holy Christmas! No wonder the poor raccoon was fighting so hard. I was blocking his (or her) escape route with the earlier battle and the spray bottle. Interestingly, although it seems as though there may have been at least two raccoons in the room, only one was giving me the ferocious battle. The plywood "blocking gate" I had constructed three years ago was in splinters.

I quickly closed the window and sat down and breathed a sigh of relief although my heart was still pounding a mile a minute. And I thought that my new day job (inside of the innermost control fences of the institution wherein I teach) was nerve wracking!

Not sure that the raccoon had already left the room, I let the cats back in and watched while all seven, kitties included -- I kid you not! -- crept around the room from corner to corner and up and down. Ralph even jumped up on the closet shelf while George and Rosie patrolled under the bed. Watching them, I was never prouder of my seven cats.

Anyway, I did actually fall asleep after an hour or so and the help of a couple of diazapam that I keep hidden for just such occasions (legally prescribed!) and dreamt much of the ordeal completely over in a series of fragments that are still in my mind 20 hours later.

When I awoke the next morning (this morning) I surveyed the damage and it was extensive. That crazy raccoon (or the raccoons) had broken or chewed open all of the large bags of kernel-type catfood and licked clean most of the dirty dishes left behind by my "builder." [Note: When I came through the door the night before, the television was on in my bedroom was blaring and the place (which looks like a bomb hit it under ordinary circumstances anyway) was even messier and stacked higher with my books, papers, quilts, clothes, whatever to allow the "builder" to make a path through my bedroom to the back wall for the work he actually accomplished today. He also opened and forgot to close the bedroom window, which is a security risk of its own kind ... never mind the flimsy screen through which the raccoon(s) entered the place. I "talked" to him today about the situation and what I suspect he was doing lying on my bed watching TV when he finished his work for the day. And there's more that I would rather not post in a potentially worldwide blog.]

But what wasn't in a shambles before the raccoon (or raccoons) entered the scene was in a shambles this morning. The kitchen cupboards were all open as well as the drawers ... and dishes, pots, pans, unopened soup, cans, etc. were EVERYWHERE!

I wonder now just where the cats were while the raccoons (I assume two) were ransacking the place and chewing anything that was chewable in the kitchen.

I'll never know.

Apparently, the "secrecy laws" that Mr. Bush had passed shortly after he entered office in 2001 cover not just the White House documents dating back to the Reagan years, but what goes on in my house while I am asleep and dreaming uneasily of the young men (actually, men of all ages) whom I instruct during my "day job."