Confession Tuesday

If it's Tuesday, it's time for your confessions. Share a little of yourself with us and we'll try to do the same.

There is a raccoon living in our attic. Saw the critter last night entering from the hole on the side of the roof. (Expletive.) He/she's a fat raccoon (maybe she's pregnant?), and when I threw my daughter's beach bucket, the closet thing I could find, and hit it, it looked at me as if to say, "That's it? What else you got? Bring it." Then went back into my attic.



I am writing from the Salem Athenaeum this morning. Every week, J.D. Scrimgeour opens up the space to local writers for a few hours. Very quiet here. I should be working on poems, but my track record for writing Tuesday blog posts on Tuesday has been questionable as of late.


It's been a quiet week since I last wrote. Working with new drafts, but nothing I would mark as a finished poem, which is good. I don't feel rushed or stressed to finish anything. My goal is to have solid work by late July and then make some decisions about what happens next. I'm jotting down lines for poems at my son's baseball games and my daughter's Tae Kwondo practice. That's a good sign.


Damn raccoon.


Anonymous said…
It's probably a momma. We had a momma raccoon for one week at our apt in a location that was way too close for comfort. In our experience, raccoons have some kind of species-specific anti-freak out mechanism that makes them slow down in the face of danger. We hung a foul smelling ammonia-soaked cloth near her cubby-hole and banged on cubby to make her feel unsafe. Next step was to put out a radio blasting loud music, but we didn't have to in the end because decided it was best to move and carried her babies off to safety.
January said…
Wow. That seems very humane. I'm ready to call pest control. Thanks for the tip about the ammonia. I will try it.

I've certainly banged a few times ... you know ... when the scratching gets too loud. Ugh.

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