A Living Statue

If only I had taken my camera outside with me that one evening when I stood motionless, like a living statue, breathing in the night air, before bringing Mikey indoors for the night! Hearing a commotion coming from the direction of "the cats' underground railroad passageway," I turned my head and noticed Harry Potter, our cat guest, staring at someone who was about to make his presence known to me.

A few seconds later, Shakespeare (our favorite raccoon) came around the corner of the house. Not expecting to see a motionless human--or was I some sort of scarecrow?--Shakespeare stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me from a distance of no more than fifteen feet. I did not even blink as I acted out the part of a living statue. So Shakespeare decided to stand on his hind legs, stretching upward as far as he could to smell me from a safe distance. He reminded me of a bear cub standing upright. Anyway, Shakespeare got a good whiff of my human scent and quickly scampered back into "the cats' underground railroad passageway." His dinner of leftover catfood would be delayed that night.

Shakespeare Raccoon

This is a rather blurry photo, taken long-distance from inside my house. It was Rebel who made the discovery that Shakespeare likes to sleep under the deck, where the opossums used to sleep, where they had their babies every spring. This year, however, there were no sounds of infants. In fact, I haven't seen any opossums at all, but then they are nomadic. As for Shakespeare, I don't know whether it's Mr. or Ms. Shakespeare, but the raccoon is very cute. Shakespeare could have scratched Rebel's nose if the desire had been there. Instead, the raccoon just looked up at us through the floor boards. Actually, I had thought it was either a feral cat or an opossum, until I saw the black mask on the raccoon's face. And since I am aware that cute raccoons can turn very vicious when cornered or threatened, I resisted the impulse to touch the rascal. I recall, quite well, the ferocity of a captured raccoon who was being relocated years ago by Bubba, a brown Rottweiller-pit mix, if memory serves me correctly, and his owner. Bubba made a lasting impression on me from the moment we met--what a great dog! I used to have a photo of Bubba taped next to my old computer at my previous residence; I'll say it again, what a great dog!

Rarely in Sight

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

--first line of Sonnet 107,

William Shakespeare

I am seriously considering naming the raccoon who likes to sleep under the deck Shakespeare. Over the years, there have been a number of raccoon visitors, although I've rarely seen them because, after all, they are nocturnal. However, I have seen their muddy pawprints in the cats' water bowls hundreds of times. But I have seen the masked rascals in person a few times during the day, and they have not been sick, just looking for food. I find it amusing to catch them peering at me from behind the corner of a building.

I had hoped to post a photo of Shakespeare the raccoon, but my Kodak Easyshare software program is not responding today. Since I have spent more than enough time waiting for it, perhaps I'll post Shakespeare's photo another time.

"The Cats' Underground Railroad Passageway"

Over the years, many cats, opossums, and a few raccoons have used what I've dubbed "the cats' underground railroad passageway" as a safe entrance onto my deck and also a quick exit. Word has gotten out, apparently, since a number of ferals have come here, dined on the deck, and stayed for a while before moving on. The passageway has also served as a shelter for the sick and injured. Anyway, one of my neighbors' cats must have found out somehow that I planned to write about discovering a gravely ill Ponzo in "the cats' underground railroad passageway," because I found the black cat volunteering to re-enact the scene this morning. And so, I took this photo of him. Now, just imagine me lying face down on the deck, determined to pull out the small feral cat, and picking him up for the first time. For the record, I had gotten to know Ponzo quite well in a short time. We had already reached the point in our relationship where Ponzo would come running when he heard his name. In fact, he enjoyed walking beside me. When it comes to heeling, Ponzo's a natural. Or is he an unnatural? After all, he is a cat. I digress. On July 1, I rushed Ponzo to the vet's office; he had a temperature of 105.8 F. Fortunately, two days later, Ponzo's temperature was 102.5 F. and he was able to come home. Meaning come live inside my house.