Revenge of the Raccoons

I should have known they would be coming for me. Everyone knows you don’t cross the Mob. The same goes for our furry, ring-tailed forest friends. In early-August, shortly after moving to Washington, I hit a raccoon with my car. I should’ve spent the last two months looking over my shoulder; perhaps changing my identity or fleeing the country.

On Sunday, they tracked me down. It was inevitable. My girlfriend and I were out for a drive. It was nighttime, too late to see anything out the windows, but we were getting claustrophobic in her apartment. So, we drove down to Point Defiance, a park and nature area that occupies the northern tip of the city of Tacoma. We headed along Five Mile Drive, a twisting, turning road that snaked through the park.

You could smell the danger in the air (although that may have been the odor of the factories upwind).

We pulled into a harmless looking viewpoint. The lights of Vashon Island glittered on the waters of the Puget Sound, distracting us from the menace that lurked in the shadows all around us.

I parked the car. We opened our doors to go have a better look. Stephanie jumped back into her seat with a yelp and slammed the door. I got back in, too, not knowing what we were freaking out about. A gang of raccoons (yes, they come in gangs) was lying in wait for her. There were four or five of them, barely a foot away from the car, standing up on their hind legs. I could’ve sworn one of them was wearing a leather jacket and smoking a raccoon-sized cigarette.

Cautiously, we drove away into the night. The threat to our lives from those pint-sized hooligans was clear.

As I lay awake in bed that night, listening for tiny paws coming to assassinate me, I wondered what had become of the raccoon I had accidentally injured. Had he survived? Was he able to drag himself home and tell his family the gruesome story of my hit-and-run? Did they swear to avenge his name?

Two months ago, I inadvertently killed a raccoon in broad daylight. If the rodent triads have their way, I will pay for my carelessness…

— 30 —

Prior to his untimely demise at the claws of vengeful raccoons, Jonny Eberle was a writer and photographer in Tacoma, WA. You can follow his life story on Twitter. Let him be a lesson to humans everywhere.

Related Posts:
Misty Mornings on the Puget Sound
Ripped from the Headlines
Breathing Room for the Brain

Published by Jonny Eberle

Writer, photographer, blogger and filmmaker in the City of Destiny. You can find my blog at

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