The Raccoon

SANITY ON BACKORDER

From Hive Peak Boulevard

By Danu Marche

Humor Columnist

Published: October 11, 2025

Synapse & Spectacle

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The Trash-Panda That Knows Too Much – and the Branch-Rat that won’t stop watching you.

This week, my neighborhood raccoon made direct eye contact with me while untying my garbage can bungee cord. That’s not the unnerving part. The unnerving part is that it didn’t break eye contact while doing it. If a magician did that, you’d clap. When a raccoon does it, you start wondering if you should change your name and move to a different zip code.

Here’s the thing about trash-pandas — they’re either adorable woodland misfits or the furry embodiment of a black-ops unit. This one has clearly graduated from the latter. I watched it pop the lid, sort the contents into categories, and set aside a banana peel like it was “saving it for later.” It’s not thievery. It’s inventory management.

And then there’s the Branch-Rat problem. You can’t so much as drink your morning coffee without spotting one pressed flat against a fence post, staring like it’s taking mental notes for a future deposition. People talk about “living under surveillance” — they don’t factor in the Acorn-Goblins with front-row seats to your laundry day.

My street has apparently become the meeting ground for both factions. Last Thursday, I caught the Garbage-Burglar handing something shiny to the nut-ferret, who bolted up the nearest tree. I don’t want to overstate things, but if they’ve started a barter system, I think we’re weeks away from a full woodland coup.

The most unsettling part? These animals have presence. You don’t just see them — you feel them seeing you. The raccoon? Always looks like it knows where you keep your spare keys. The squirrel? Looks like it’s already drawn up blueprints of your living room. They’ve got the kind of quiet confidence you usually only see in jewel thieves or third-grade teachers who “just know” which kid hid the scissors.

Halfway through writing this, I spotted today’s Twig-Weasel sighting: perched on the streetlight outside my window, holding an entire glazed donut in both paws like it was about to bless the neighborhood. Took a bite, leaned forward, and locked eyes with me until the last crumb was gone. I can’t prove it, but I swear it licked its paw in slow motion, just to establish dominance.

I don’t know if there’s a wildlife conspiracy brewing or if I’ve just become the local reality show, but either way, my neighborhood watch meetings are about to get very weird. The next step is to start documenting their activities in a binder labeled “Evidence” — you know, so the police have something to ignore later.

Until then, I’ll be double-checking my locks and keeping my banana peels inside.

“If anyone’s already experienced a Midnight Snack-Ninja/Pinecone-Pickpocket alliance in their neighborhood, I’d like to know how it ends — and whether you survived the HOA meeting that followed.”

©2025 Danu Marche