It would be fair to call me a wee bit obsessive when it comes to the wild and stray critters that frequent my front porch. They all have names, as I’ve mentioned a few hundred times, and I love each and every one of them very much, probably more than is healthy, even if all they do is meow and squeak at me to get them food. They’re demanding, those cats, except for Raccoon Cat, an actual raccoon who lives in the tree between my house and the neighbor’s house, and Possum Cat, an actual possum, who I’m nearly positive is the one the dogs tried to kill the night before Andrew left for Alabama. I love these two in a special sort of way, a ridiculous sort of way, to be sure, and I can’t decide if my deep love for them stems from the fact that they are actual wild animals and living in the city rarely offers me the chance to see wild things, or if it’s just that them on my front porch is so brazen and ridiculous that I can’t help but be overcome with love for them both.
1. Monday night, the day I got back from Alabama, I was starting to get worried because I hadn’t seen Baby Cat. Baby Cat has spent much of his life eating from my front porch and he’s almost always there, especially if he knows I’m in the house. So I peeked outside and saw something, some sort of figure, hiding under one of the chairs on the porch, but I couldn’t figure out what cat it was, so out I went, onto the porch to peek under the chair and there, pictured above, was POSSUM CAT.
2. Possum cat does not play dead when I spot him on the porch or blind him with futile attempts at documenting his existence with my iPhone, but he does stare, intently, directly into my soul it sometimes seems, as if daring me to do something to his cute little possum self. It’s both creepy and endearing.
3. Knowing now that raccoons have the potential for chirping, I have been anxious for another Raccoon Cat sighting. I occasionally see evidence of his existence on the back porch, usually in the form of fallen leaves from the tree he lives in, but it is not enough. I need more raccoon chirps.
4. Raccoon Cat is fat. Obese, even for a raccoon. It’s a little obscene, actually, watching him waddle away anytime I spot him munching on the cat food on the front porch. Possum Cat, on the other hand, seems tiny, and is, I think, still an adolescent little possum.
5. The only times I’ve ever seen Raccoon Cat on the porch have been slim moments when he’s munching away on the cat food bowl. If he knows I’ve spotted him he quickly flees the scene. Possum Cat, on the other hand, just stares, and I’ve never actually seen him eat any of the front porch cat food.




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I thiiiink I’m in love with them. And also you.
Suburban Sweethearts recently posted..Life Is Like a Box of Chocolates, Or Something: The Story of My First Kiss
OMG my mom and I used to feed raccoons and possums off the back porch, pretty much my entire life. We had maybe 20 raccoons on the porch once… they brought all their babies… little balls of fluff. They’ll take cookies out of your hand. Once, late at night, I let them in the house and they climbed all over me and all over the house eventually when my dad came in and startled them. It was ri-di-cu-lous. Love your animal menagerie!
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At my old apartment I lived on the third floor and the huge raccoon liked to frequent my balcony to start a war with my cats behind the glass, it was amusing. I just couldn’t get over how fat he was. Maybe we should start a Biggest Loser – Raccoon Cat Edition
Ha! You do have quite the zoo on your front porch
I have never had much interaction with a racoon (or possum, for that matter) unless they were in the trash for some reason. One day I was walking Jack and heard this crazy loud hoofing sound and to my right was a beautiful stag running right at us; fortunately Jack was startled and jumped out of the way as I did. Just gorgeous. I think we was trapped in our suburban neighborhood (which has a lot of trees, but also quite a lot of fences!) and by the time I had done my mile loop he was gone, presumably home to Bambi and his wife. At least I hope so.
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