Raccoons, those rascally little, bandit-faced critters are one of my favorite urban landscape animals.
Over the past few days, as I traveled north, noodled around with my family and then came home today, there were so many raccoon bodies along the highways that I finally had to avert my eyes when I saw a lump ahead on the break-down lanes.
Home now to hug CoolCat and appreciate that, despite his regularly expressed desire to be allowed out in the yard, I am able to ignore his pathetic cries and keep him safely indoors. He can look out the windows and watch the birdies and squirrels, and be alarmed by the cars speeding past on the street, something he completely forgets, or more likely never connects to being outside.
I am thinking about looking for a nice dog kennel when I am at the charity shops. I could carpet it and the two of us could comfortably spend lovely, long and sunny days on the porch and still be alive at day's end. It just has to fit through the doorway. A comfy chair for me, too. Maybe a little table or crate for tasty snacks and refreshing beverages for both of us.
Alrighty, just thinking about being out there is making me feel those familiar twinges of vulnerability. Exposure. Too much stuff out there to make a clean break for the house if need be. Shudder.
However, I was able to walk earlier this week, like outside, on the sidewalk, car still parked in back, and survived. Yes. Yes, I did. I walked to the exercise place and back home. A couple of blocks. I was hyper-vigilant whenever I was near other people walking, but I did not return home, kept on walking. There was not anyone at the exercise place who could help me, so I will call this week to inquire about the best time to go over there.
One walk down. A million to go.