Yesterday I finally got around to calling animal control on that varmint that destroyed my hummingbird feeder and is on its third regular birdfeeder.
"Yeah, they like those birdfeeders," said the bored woman who answered the phone.
"Can you loan me a live trap?"
"No, not for a birdfeeder. Now if he gets in your attic or something, that's different."
I hung up and moped a little. I have no intention of actually buying a raccoon trap. Last night I brought the birdfeeders inside for the night, though Beloved worries that means we'll get mice in the garage. I still haven't taken them back out there. I think the hummingbird feeder is cracked, which is too bad since I had four hummingbirds visiting it regularly -- four hummingbirds who are going to wonder why their favorite club suddenly pulled up stakes under the dark of night like a speakeasy.
All because of the bully in the neighborhood. That chittering, masked, stinky raccoon.
This is not over.