(If you haven't already, you might want to check out the The original Raccoon Chronicles first.)
Throwin' up Signs
I knew they were back when Tom launched himself out of bed on Tuesday at 3am. It was a fiery explosion of flying blankets, flailing legs and lightning speed. If Tom had low blood pressure, it might also have been a medical emergency. Luckily, his blood pressure is in the target range for his age group.
Tom returned ten minutes later, his expression grim. He sat on the side of the bed and clutched his head between his hands. They.Were.Back.
Tom recognized the tell-tale signs... disarray and rumpled, chewed up tax returns. The raccoons had sprayed their muddy gang colors all over the basement. Screw the IRS. Coons play bill collecta in our heezie.
Watch out Derrick Jeeter
By Thursday, we learned something new. Raccoons are concerned about their athletic performance. They go in for lean protein, eschew transfats. They really like Cliff Bars. Chocolate Brownie ones in particular. Turns out, they like them more than cat food, more than peanut butter. But not as much as chambord-filled chocolate barrels.
Tom Moonlights in Vending Machine Maintenance
And raccoons are smarter than your average Cliff Bar muscle-bound muncher. Two nights in a row, Tom scurried downstairs to find the bait gone and no one in the trap. Tom muttered darkly about the raccoon vending machine he had been connived into restocking nightly. Crafty little wankers.
Trix are for Tom
Not to be outsmarted by a rodent, Tom strategically surrendered day three. He did not re-bait the trap, needing some time with his thinking cap to mastermind a plan. And that night, he caught his first Coon of the season. The raccoon growled menacingly. Tom was only slightly intimidated.
But this ploy only worked once.
His latest bait is a Milky Way duct-taped to the back of the cage. He is also sprinkling flour around on the floor so he can track the raccoons' movement circuits. Tom is definitely smarter than a rodent.