One Cat's Seattle

At 2 A.M., I was awakened by the sound of wild animals fighting. The snarling was so loud, I thought at first that they'd gotten into the houseboat somehow. I listened, frozen, heart racing and ears alert, ready to leap to the highest spot in the bedroom at the slightest indication of danger. It sounded like the fight was taking place under the floorboards, and it sounded positively vicious.

My man servant, also disturbed, scrambled out of bed and opened the shutters, just in time to see a huge raccoon jump first into and then out of the water. It plunged into the water from the small wooden float next to the houseboat, on which a neighbor stores two kayaks, splashed into the lake, then immediately climbed up onto the dock and lumbered as fast as it could toward the shore, dripping as it went. Mark looked down the dock and saw a teen-aged boy standing not far off; his presence must have scared the attacker off.

I couldn't sleep for hours, and neither could Mark, we were both so thrilled, so agitated. I replayed the brief experience in my head, over and over, wondering what had brought about such hostility. The conflict was so heated, and so stationary, that I wonder whether there is a raccoon nest under one of the kayaks, and what we heard was a mother fiercely defending its babies.