The Dale family had scores of pets over the years and none was more frightening and nasty than our Raccoon. It wasn’t a real Raccoon, but a mangy cat.
To this day, the very mention of filthy Raccoon strikes disgust and anger among all who were touched by this thinly, wisp of a sickly cat. For as long as I can remember, grubby Raccoon had always been synonymous with excrement. A stray that lived under the grandparent Bailey’s trailer in Pueblo, Colorado, grimy Raccoon subsisted on table scraps and sewer rats. She made the trek to Denver with the family. From that day on, Raccoon’s shit would be a staple in our home while growing up.
We designated one corner of the basement to Raccoon’s toilet. The “Fecal Annex” as my father used to call it. The entire room was covered in newspaper, except the small area for the dart board. Raccoon would shit everywhere around the house but the litter box, which would remain immaculate in the corner. She never had a normal, solid BM. Hers was always liquid diarrhea splattered here and there and everywhere! Raccoon poopie on the breadbox, feces on the living room walls, crap on the couches, defilement in the laundry room, diarrhea in the doorway and excrement in the VCR!
Friends and family hated that cat, except for Mommie Dearest. Mom treated the skittish nimbus feline like royalty. Raccoon lived a hated trouble-free existence and even soiled my car with her filth!
Raccoon somehow got locked in my car one day by crawling through a window or the sunroof. After partying for the night, I returned home and secured my car, not knowing that Raccoon was inside. The next day was hot, 95 degrees. It was 2 in the afternoon when I had errands to run. I went out to my car and when I opened the door, I noticed diarrhea all over the seats. There was filth on the dashboard, scat on the steering wheel and shit in the backseat and hatchback. There were claw streaks in poopie on the windows where it was obvious grubby Raccoon frantically tried to claw her way out.
It was one of the most horrific things I have ever seen. The temperature was so hot in the car that some waste had evaporated and soaked into the seat pads. Ripples of stench and heat emanated from the vehicle.
What had caused this?! I spied around in rage and sure enough, spiteful Raccoon lay exhausted and dehydrated in the hatchback. She visibly felt my contempt brewing and mustered up enough energy to scurry out of my car and into the bushes. I screamed the cliché, “Noooooooooooooo,” while shaking my fists at the heavens.
I cleaned my car and fashioned trash bag seat covers. I bought 3 vanilla flavored rearview mirror air fresheners, but they hardly helped. They created a vanilla-smelling funk, a literal vanilla whore’s bath for my car.
I picked up normsquatch that day. The very mention of fecal matter disgusts Norm. It literally makes him vomit. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he was sitting in my car noticing the stench and questioning the trashbag seat covers.
“Raccoon Norm, she shit everywhere,” I said jovially. He squirmed. It was hilarious. If normsquatch could hover or levitate, I am sure he would have at that moment. He never rode in my car again.
Grimy Raccoon lived a long and fruitful life. After her mysterious passing, we rallied the funds to have her sparse body stuffed, forever hunched in both pain and ecstasy. Shitting for all eternity. Some Droogs tell people I murdered Raccoon by holding her down on the edge of the curb and decapitating her with the sharp end of a shovel. I didn’t.