I’m the Martha Stewart of Raccoons. I’m the hostess with the mostest. They CANNOT resist my charm! I’m a virtual Pied Piper… except instead of luring Raccoons away from their parents, I lure entire families to my home to- by all means- Get comfortable! Stay! Enjoy yourself!! Can I get you anything to eat? Are you thirsty? Turndown service? Want me to fluff your pillow? I’m here to serve!

In case you missed it, I blogged about a month ago about a family of NINE raccoons that was living in the attic above our kitchen. You can read Episode 1 and Episode 2 in that series to catch up if you missed it.

(No really, stop right here. Read those first. Then come back. We’ll all wait here for you…….. ok!! and now on with the rest of the story>>>>)

After Animal Control removed the first family, we knew we’d need to replace a few things around the house to get rid of the raccoon odor and insure that no further raccoons would take up residence in our home. I falsely assumed that we had a little time to make the changes and that we were probably safe until NEXT Spring. David and I had a lot going on, so we put it off a little bit.

Well…. that was obviously a mistake. One night, immediately after we returned from a week-long camping trip, I was home sleeping and Dave was out very late working to catch up on things that didn’t happen while he was gone. When he came home he burst into our bedroom and said- “We have another one!” Another what? Car? Dog? Dying tomato plant? I was groggy and confused. “We have another raccoon!” I was a little dubious. “How do you know?” “I heard it!” “Where?” “In the soffit on the side of the house!” ok, whatever. I rolled over and went back to sleep, sure that he was having auditory hallucinations in his exhausted state. Dave texted my brother the next day and told him about the situation and Carus agreed to come out the next day and take a look at the problem.

Carus started the next morning near a new small gap in the soffit. He was just poking around in the soffit and listening for rustling. I still wasn’t sure anything would be in there. I know David was sure and all… but he hadn’t SEEN it he just suspected that’s what he’d heard from some thumping around. No baby cries, just thumping. It could have been a bird, a squirrel, a bat… As Carus put pressure on a piece of soffit, he hissed, “It’s right here!” I’m guessing he could feel the weight of the creature. He started to slowing work his way down to the small gap in the soffit from one and to the other like squeezing toothpaste out of a tube. He just harassed it from one end to the other. And… out it came. A medium sized female raccoon. It, the raccoon I named Roberta, sat on the roof eyeing me for a while and then she scampered over the roof, down the front porch, and ran away. Clearly, Roberta does not have the emotional fortitude and courage of Rosie. Somehow, I respect her less.

Carus wanted to make sure she wouldn’t come back, but unfortunately a nasty storm was rolling in and he was standing on a metal ladder. Needless to say, unless he WANTED to be a lightning rod… he needed to work quickly and do a temporary fix. His solution? Pull down all the soffit! Our home used to have some gingerbread style gables that extended over the edge of the house, so the soffit doesn’t actually connect to the attic. He slowly worked his way back down the wall removing any place for the raccoon to reside. At first it was pretty uneventful. However, he got to a point over half way down the wall where the soffit tiles were full of grass and straw and they had a very distinct musty funk. The wind from the storm rolling in was picking up and the straw and presumably raccoon waste was flying all over the place. The smell was awful. Geez, Roberta! Bathe much?? I was pretty much standing in a tornado of raccoon mess and I could feel straw pelting my body. Carus ripped out all but one last dangling piece as giant drops of rain started to pelt us. We both made a run for it. He ran for his van, I ran for the house, and we called it a day. I showered immediately. Like, closed the back door and walked straight to the bathroom to strip, immediately. A LONG, HOT, scrub, scrub, scrubba-dub-dubby shower. (BLEHCH!)

A couple hours later, I was inside -scrubbed, refreshed, and wearing a heavy layer of perfume, deodorant, and lotion- finishing up my most recent wedding photos when I heard and all too familiar raccoon baby noise. WHAT?!?!?!? You have GOT to be kidding me!!!! Now, I know that they couldn’t have been living in the soffit very long because that noise was almost deafening and we SURELY would have noticed. Especially since it was about 9 feet away from where I usually sit to edit. But, there it was. That unmistakable IRRITATING cry. I rushed outside to try and find the source. As the door opened, I almost gagged at that smell. (Seriously! You have NO idea!) I rounded the corner and there on that last dangling piece of soffit was what could barely still be called a baby raccoon. It was flailing around trying not to tumble 15 feet to the ground. (Stop thrashing, Dummy!) It spotted me and moved up to a safer position where I’m sure it thought I couldn’t see it. I call this one Rolf.

I immediately called Mike from American Animal Control. (No really, I was still standing staring at the gap where I’d just seen the tween raccoon.) It was time for professional help. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. “Uh Mike. HI! It’s Marah Grant. I don’t know if you remember me or not. You removed nine raccoons from my house in Warsaw about a month ago. Anyway, I wish I were joking, BUT… we have raccoons again. I have visual confirmation on a mother and at least one baby. (I literally said ‘visual confirmation’! Like I’m some military operative or something. I’m embarrassed at my own dorkiness sometimes.) Please help me!” The last bit probably came out as a little bit of a desperate whine. I hung up and paced around my living room.

Mike called back in less than three minutes. He was on the other line when I called. Of course he remembered me. We’re old buds by now. But did he really need to chuckle at my predicament? Really? I briefly explained what had happened and how we’d pretty much eliminated their comfy home. Mike told me what we should do… wait it out… He said that since they didn’t really have a place anymore they’d probably clear out on their own. He then told me that we should replace, not reuse the soffit… because that smell will draw other raccoons to the house. (Oh really? Does that smell linger? I hadn’t noticed…) What I love about Mike is that he didn’t come out to the house, but chose to advise me over the phone- for free- instead of making a little more money off of me. I mean, I’d gladly have paid him to come out to the house and tell me the exact same thing. I love an honest hardworking business person. I’m an AAC customer for life! (If, heaven forbid, I continue to have critter problems.)

So, we waited.

That night Rolf’s chirping got downright obnoxious. At around 10:00 David and I snuck outside to see what was going on. There on the roof line we could see two silhouettes. One medium Roberta, one small Rolf. One silent Roberta, one chirping and screeching Rolf the cowardly idiot!! It vaguely reminded me of when Anne (with an E) was dared to walk on the ridgepole of the roof. Mix in, nighttime, a little Disney animals instead of a precocious redhead and you’ve got the scene. We watched Roberta and Rolf scamper around for a while and I’m pretty sure the little one was just too scared to get down off the roof. David sighed and tiredly headed back in. I reluctantly followed. Once inside, the hubster was asleep in minutes, but I couldn’t get past the chirping. I needed to know the conclusion to the story. I listened. And then I watched. I realized when I looked out our bedroom that because of the placement of the streetlight I could watch their perfectly silhouetted shadows on the side of the house next door. It was like the world’s best shadow puppet show!! Eventually, with a lot of patient coaxing from Roberta, and a lot of freaking out by the dramatic tween, Rolf, they climbed down and ran away.

And that was it. They were gone. This time, there’s no happy new family estate in the country. No final goodbye. In some ways, I’m still a little nervous that they’ll return. Every time a car drives by with a squeaky belt, I listen carefully to be sure that it’s not a chirping raccoon. I call it PTRD. Post Traumatic Raccoon Disorder. How long will it be before I can walk out the back door without smelling the musty odor of raccoon den? (There’s really nothing like it.) I wonder how long it’ll be before my ears stop perking up at any little squeak. Do Raccoons know when we take a week-long vacation and deliberately chose that particular time to take up residence? How long before I stop doing paranoid laps around the house to check for any tiny crack or weakness that an animal might be able to penetrate?

I wish there was a more final conclusion. Something that would guarantee that I will never again play hostess to Roberta and Rolf. However, when you’re a hostess as gifted and generous as I… you’re gonna get some return visits! I guess it’s just my cross to bear. My talent to use. My bizarre story to tell.

Here’s a shot of Carus working Roberta out of the soffit like toothpaste through the tube.

And here is a hilarious animated gif of Roberta climbing out of her den. It’s the first animated gif I’ve ever made, and truth be told David had to help me a lot because I am TERRIBLE with photoshop. (Always remember, I am a PHOTOGRAPHER NOT a photoshopper!!) I think it’s pretty awesome…