Man, we were on a roll. I, Max McCoon, found the door to the attached garage open, and Maggie and Micheal and I were out in a flash. We were really into a game of volleyball with various new items we found on the suspended shelves. Micheal, the klutz, dropped many easy catches on the 4 cars below. The parents came running when they heard the 7th crash. My first thought was, “Shit, we’re in trouble now”. I am seldom wrong.
|The kill switch to the automatic garage opener was flipped, the dead bolt to the outside human door snapped, and the parents went into stevedore mode. Several hundred pounds of pet food were humped into the kitchen while we sat placidly by watching them vying for a coronary attack. The shop vac cleaned up the last remaining bits of food. I figured the fun was over and went into the house when the mother called. Maggie and Micheal were draggin’ ass, however. They were hangin’ upside down on the top rails of the garage door. Bad mistake. The father landed Maggie just like an ugly carp in a big fish net with a long handle that had been hangin’ on the wall, and dumped her sorry ass back in the house.|
He landed Micheal next, but it turned into a catch and release maneuver because the net caught on a piece of metal. Micheal, flat out, refused to come back in the house, so the big gun was brought out, the hated live trap. Micheal, mental giant that he is, walked right in. Then, when the trap was opened in the house, he couldn’t figure out how to back out of the trap. Smart, huh?
|The fun was over, and we were exhausted|
Moral: Beware of all those items (underlined above) that led to our recapture. I suspect all surrogate parents of coons have them in stock along with welders’ gloves, gate latches, various pieces of misc. molding etc. to cramp our innate styles. (If not, they should).
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