“Daaaaaave …”
“Yeah?”
“I have a problem. In the bathroom …”
Margie was in the bathroom, heard some rustling behind the toilet, figured it was a cat … until the cats all wandered by.
Yes, that little gray huddle behind the porcelain was actually a small raccoon. And, after some rather comical (were someone else watching it) gyrations, we determined it was a small, injured raccoon, only capable of dragging itself along. Almost certainly the injured raccoon from the other day, apparently having gotten himself around the house perimeter during the day to there.
From the way he was moving, his leg must have been seriously injured or broken. He didn’t flee upon discovery, and even if we got him out of the bathroom, he’d almost certainly not leave the garage.
(Insert that all my compassion gauges just pegged at 11.)
Animal control was basically useless at this point of night, it being after hours (and not a Ravening Wolf or something). Ditto for private animal control services.
So … we wait until the morning to see who we can get hold of then.
Poor critter. Not much we can do aside from close him in the bathroom.
Not how we want to spend the night, eh?
So, how did it work out this AM?
Local animal control outfit is trying to fit us into their schedule to take raccoon away. Reorganizing errand and party prep schedule to accommodate.
Aaand … raccoon gone bye-bye. Not my idea of a good time on the holidays. Utterly irrational, but there it is.
Good, quick work by Animal & Pest Control Specialists, Inc. Will hold onto their number.
No cat crate to put it in….or borrow one of Doyce’s dog crates?
I don’t particularly want to try to prod the injured raccoon into a cat crate. Nor is there anyplace we can “put it” or let it go. The way it was dragging its leg last night, it was clearly broken, which means it needs to be euthanized, hence the animal control (privatized) business.