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The Bandit

That darn raccoon is back.  As I wrote in a previous post, the other day I went to throw out the trash, and as I opened the door to the dumpster/compactor, I was confronted by a raccoon noshing on some leftovers.  Suffice it to say, the Raccoon outwitted me, and I had to leave my bag of trash by the side of the dumpster and walk away defeated.

Now he's back, and this time it's personal!  I wasn't going to be beaten twice by a dude that lives in garbage.  Well, there was that time in the 34th Street subway that a man beat me in a game of cribbage while living in his own filth, but no garbage dwelling man (or creature) beats me three times!

I walked up the trash compactor, opened the door, and said, "Listen! I have a bag of trash here, and I mean to compact it, and not you, or anybody that looks like you is going to stop me!  What do you have to say about that, bro?"  Just then, the raccoon jumped back behind an empty box of wine.  Success! I had met my adversary on the field of battle and vanquished him.  I placed the trash bag into the compactor and started to close the door.  Just then, I heard a small voice say, "I'm not your bro."

I swung open the door, pushed the wine box aside and yelled at the raccoon.  "What did you just say to me?"  He replied, "I SAID, I'm not your bro!  I have a name."  Mind you that I'm so enraged at this point that a speaking rodent doesn't faze me.  "So what is your name?" I asked.   He replied, "My name is Larry."  "Well, Larry, if you're so smart, then why are you living in a dumpster and eating garbage?"  I guess this I kinda pushed his buttons because, man, did he lay into me.

You know, you humans think you are sooo superior with your bipedal locomotion, advanced linguistics, and reasoning skills, but so many of you are in foreclosure or under water on you mortgages.  I, on the other hand, live here rent-free!  My food and shelter are supplied for me, and my credit rating is alomst 800.  Oh, is that your hatchback parked over there?  Isn't that sweet.  That's my custom Olds 88 with 22s parked next to it.  And hey, too bad about your girlfriend.  I heard you got dumped. I got a wife and 8 kids.  Not really sure where they are, but there out there somewhere.

How could I say anything after that?  He was right...about everything.  I hung my head and walked away in shame.  Before I was out of earshot, I heard that soft voice say, "Sorry, bro.  We cool?  I"m going through a lot of stuff right now.  You're alright."  I thought to myself, "Larry, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Prologue:  The next day Larry was killed when he failed to avoid the compactor wall closing in on him.  Evidently, a large jar of Kraft Easy Cheeze was just out of his reach.  While removing his carcass from the gears of the trash compactor, the workers noticed a large methane leak which probably had something to do with my extended discussion with a raccoon.  My lease is up at the end of March.  I probably should look for a better place to live.