Okay, Rocky Raccoon or Rickety Raccoon or whatever your name is. I know you have to eat but can you please find yourself a different cafe than the Landfill garbage cart? I’m not even sure how you got in there. I thought those things were supposed to be raccoon-proof. But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe not. Back when we had that ugly old wooden “box” with the three crinkled up old metal garbage cans in it, the ones that were here when we bought the Landfill, I used to run into your great-great-great-great-great-grandroobly all the time. But that contraption was anything but secure. At any rate, it is Garbage Day here on the Planet Ann Arbor and, today when I started to wheel that dern cart down to the street, I darn near jumped out of my skin when the lid opened and your furry little body jumped out! Yes I screamed! I hope Joan didn’t hear me! And there isn’t even that much garbage in there this week, since we were at Houghton Lake last weekend, so I dunno what you found in there that was so interesting to eat. Windex wipes, maybe?

Oh, yeah, almost forgot. Sincerely yours, Garbage Woman

P.S. I heard an ancient Jeep Wrangler in the street just now, 1992, to be exact, and I thought, “oh, The Grumper is home.” And then I remembered a couple things. 1) our ancient Jeep Wrangler is in kzoo with Mouse and 2) the high school junior across the street (female) now owns a 1992 Jeep Wrangler. It’s an automatic but hey, ya can’t have everything!

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