He's Probably Fine...

One day, back when I lived in Foo, I was out of town, and my friend called me.

"Hey, is your husband alright?"

Obviously, this caused me some alarm. She elaborated.

"I was getting off work last night around midnight, and he was standing on your porch in his underwear, screaming like a crazy person."

She apparently tried to talk to him, but he just kind of waved her off and went back inside. This was news to me, so I called him. He didn't answer. A few hours later, I got in touch with him.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I had a rough night."

He then told me the following story.

The night before, he baked some bread. It was spring and without central air or heat, it was the perfect temperature to let in the evening air. He went to bed. Around midnight, he was wrenched awake by that horrible, gut-curdling sound of screeching cats. He jumped out of bed, apparently only clad in underwear, and ran into the front room, where he found a raccoon attempting to get through the window screen and into the house.

Our two cats were putting up a mighty defense, shrieking and hissing and attacking the screen, which didn't seem to phase the obese raccoon.

My husband fought is way through the battle cats to the window and proceeded to wave his hands and yell at the raccoon, and again, the stoic beast remained unmoved by his efforts.

My husband ran to the front door, picked up an empty cardboard box on the way, and ended up on the porch. He hurled the box at the raccoon, wailing like a banshie. The box bounced off the raccoon, but it didn't move. Instead, the raccoon gave my husband an annoyed look, and after a minute of obvious consideration, began an unmotivated retreat down the steps.

My husband continued to shout, waving his arms, the cats shrieking in the window, and then my friend rolled by, highlighting my husband in his underwear howling at a raccoon who had, with a metaphorical eye roll, disappeared into the darkness.

My husband isn't the kind of person who jumps out of bed and is fully conscious. It's unknown if, on that night, he even registered that my friend was speaking to him.

He slept through his alarm that morning, and was awakened by the supervisor calling him to make sure he was okay. He then didn't get his customary two hour pre-work coffee and reading routine, and he was sent to a far flung area of Foo with no cell service, and I was left to just wonder why he had been out at midnight screaming in his chonies.

"It's been a rough day for me," he concluded his story.

The cats however, paraded around for days, convinced of their obvious warrior status.

In all likelihood, the raccoon wasn't affected at all, and no doubt found the treasure trove of sidewalk-based fermented ice cream cones located at trashcans in front the store just down the hill from my house. These are much easier prize than well-guarded fresh-baked bread, but no doubt, the raccoon wasn't upset it had attempted the prize. After all, with great risk comes great reward.