did happen, when the traveler finally chose to reveal itself in some
fashion, Eduardo more likely than not would wish that it had remained
concealed and secretive.
Now he picked up the empty beer bottle, rose from the rocking chair,
intending to get another brew--and saw the raccoon. It was standing in
the yard, about eight or ten feet from the porch, staring at him. He
hadn't noticed it before because he'd been focused on the distant
trees--the once-luminous trees--at the foot of the meadow.
The woods and fields were heavily populated with wildlife. The
frequent appearance of squirrels, rabbits, foxes, possums, deer,
horned sheep, and other animals was one of the charms of such a deeply
rural life.
Raccoons, perhaps the most adventurous and interesting of all the
creatures in the neighborhood, were highly intelligent and rated higher
still on any scale of cuteness. However, their intelligence and
aggressive scavenging made them a nuisance, and the dexterity of their
almost hand-like paws facilitated their mischief. In the days when
horses had been kept in the stables, before Stanley Quartermass died,
raccoons--although primarily carnivores--had been endlessly inventive
in the raids they launched on apples and other equestrian supplies.
Now, as then, trash cans had to be fitted with raccoon-proof lids,
though these masked bandits still made an occasional assault on the
containers, as if they'd been in their dens, brooding about the
situation for weeks, and had devised a new technique they wanted to try
out.
The specimen in the front yard was an adult, sleek and fat, with a
shiny coat that was somewhat thinner than the thick fur of winter. It
sat on its hindquarters, forepaws against its chest, head held high,
watching Eduardo. Though raccoons were communal and usually roamed in
pairs or groups, no others were visible either in the front yard or
along the edge of the meadow.
They were also nocturnal. They were rarely seen in the open in broad
daylight.
With no horses in the stables and the trash cans well secured, Eduardo
had long ago stopped chasing raccoons away--unless they got onto the
roof at night. Engaged in raucous play or mouse chasing across the top
of the house, they could make sleeping impossible.
He moved to the head of the porch steps, taking advantage of this
uncommon opportunity to study one of the critters in bright sunlight at
such close range.
The raccoon moved its head to follow him.
Nature had cursed the rascals with exceptionally beautiful fur, doing
them the tragic disservice of making them valuable to the human
species, which was ceaselessly engaged in a narcissistic search for
materials with which to bedeck and ornament itself. This one had a
particularly bushy tail, ringed with black, glossy and glorious.
'What're you doing out and about on a sunny afternoon?' Eduardo
asked.
The animal's anthracite-black eyes regarded him with almost palpable
curiosity.
