After several days in Washington, I returned to Boulder today to find a bit of disarray at the house. The extra-full bowl of cat chow I had left in the kitchen for the resident kitty Enzo was empty; the two water dishes were full of dirty, foul-smelling water. On the kitchen counter, a bag of cookies was ripped open, as was a bag of cat chow. Down the front of the stainless steel dishwasher were telltale hand-shaped tracks; apparently a raccoon entered the house and plundered the loot.
The innocent-looking house I’ve rented is three blocks from open space that stretches up into the mountains. Living here is a bit like living in a Walt Disney movie--foxes trot through the streets and alleys in the mornings, and I looked at the window one afternoon to see a deer on the other side, gazing in at me from four feet away.
Yet not all of the forest creatures are sweet. Two weeks ago, I lay awake wondering when the infestation of wolf spiders in the bathroom would spread and drive me from the house--while their numbers have dwindled, my days of walking through the house barefoot are over for good. Other nights, I have heard the cat yowling angrily in the yard at demons I cannot see. I have awakened in the wee hours to a strong scent of skunk fuming in through the open windows and worried that Pepe Le Pew would bounce through the kitty door cut into the far corner of the bedroom wall.
Tonight, I will add a new item to my bedtime list of chores—barricade the kitty door with a heavy object, and hope that Enzo wakes me if she wants to come in for a midnight snack. While I’m up for most Colorado adventures, I do hope that tangling with a masked bandit while decked out in my PJs will not be one of them.
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