The older the raccoon becomes, the more boy he becomes. He's evolved into Apollyon, the Destroyer Raccoon, in the last few months. He likes to clobber and investigate and climb and get into everything that I do not allow him to get into - and nothing else. He's particular in that way.
Yes, he still likes the garbage - the egg shells and coffee grounds are sweet rewards. But that's child play, in some respects. There are toxic cleaners in the world; toilets - basins of fun, pools of pleasure; computers to bang on; and, in general, messes to be made. And the raccoon is smart. He knows things. It's scary what he knows. He refuses to speak English, but do not be fooled - he knows it. Smart and destructive are two characteristics I do not like to see working together in such harmony, so mutually enraptured with one another.
So what does a man do? Play ball with him, wrestle with him, hug on him, kiss his cloven earlobe. I suppose, that's all a man can do. After all, at the end of the day, he is my raccoon.