September 5, 2017
Will there never be peace? My landlady is ranting. Decibel levels could melt your teeth. “A cat looks at you from two blocks away and you go nuts but you let a T-Rex get in the kitchen and rip the place apart and you sleep through the whole thing. It could have bit me in the butt and then I’d have rabies. I should have gotten a Rottweiler,” on and on. For one thing, it wasn’t a T-Rex. It was just a raccoon. Plus even if it was a T-Rex and it bit her she wouldn’t get rabies because a T-Rex is a reptile. She flunked biology in high school, did you know that? Most people don't. Then it didn’t “rip the place apart.” It simply left a calling card and a muddy paw print on the vinyl. And of greatest importance, I slept through the whole thing because – and I cannot stress this point too strongly – it was not a cat. But now I have to sleep outside with the back door shut. (She knows, she could get a pet door. But a pet door won’t keep raccoons out of the kitchen. That’s my job.)
