No! Not the cherries!

We got back late from a pre-wedding cocktail party last night, so it was about midnight when I finally got into bed and waited for Angel Joe to find a good stopping place in his magazine. I could hear little noises, like something small smacking the wall downstairs. Bonk. Bonk, bonk.

Me: What’s that noise? Is that the cat?

Angel Joe: I don’t hear anything.

Most animals have a certain rhythm to their actions. Listening to the sound, a word popped into my head. Raccoons. And they weren’t downstairs, they were on the half roof behind our heads.

There are two porthole-style windows on that wall. You can’t open them, but I shone the flashlight out. Four young raccoons and their mother were cleaning out the branches that grow above that flat section of roof — the easiest branches for us to pick.

Joe went downstairs, got the hose and shot water onto the roof. I peered out. The baby raccoons, adorably dampened, were licking the water off their fur and the leaves. I banged on the window. (Sorry, neighbors.) One of the babies, while not caught in the bird netting surrounding the tree, pushed up against it, trying to get to his Mom. She came up to the window where I was making noise and shining the light and pressed her face up against it. I smacked the glass, hard. She flinched, but kept at it, even though I was banging away. I realized she was freaking out in her lugubrious raccoon way, trying to protect her kids (what courage!), so I stopped and went downstairs.

Me: I think they won’t come down until she feels it’s safe.

Angel Joe: She came down and hissed at me. I hissed back and she went up again.

We gave up and went to bed. The noises stopped, so I think they departed down the ladder. About five branches are denuded this morning. We’ll remove the ladder this evening and try to fashion some sort of sheet-metal cone to put around the trunk.

Tags: fruit trees, gardening, raccoons