In my early teens, my 'room' was a spartan unheated studio over the garage. The outdoor stairway led to a covered porch and then to my room. We had three big cats at the time, but since my parents didn't want to leave windows or cat doors open into the house, the cats were fed in my bedroom. Feeding them was my chore, my gateway to a responsible life as an adult... One of the pains was removed from the door, and instantly, constant access was granted to our cats... 'Orange' (who we rescued from a filling station in Mendicino) 'Black' (who was running sideways banks off of the gravestones of the Mendicino cemetery) and 'Claude' (who was 22 pounds, and hung around alot).

All went well for a year or two, and then the troubles set in...

One night, when I was sound asleep, dreaming as I did of long 'powerslides' in perfect loam on my BSA Victor, with my feet 'on the pegs', I was rudely awakened by what sounded like a bar brawl a few feet from my bed. Shreiks, bowls bursting, knock down drag out kinds of body crashing sounds... and my heart pounding seemed even louder! I immediately sat bolt upright in bed, and turned my Longeines clock-radio-lamp light on to the ruckus... and the brawling stopped. Dead silence. 14 lamplit glowing eyes stared back at me with distain, and primal fear. After about twenty seconds of absolute stillness, where they watched me, and I stared back at them, all seven racoons made for the door... which, on account of the smallness of the window frame, and the largeness of the cat food stuffed racoons, could barely fit through one at a time... So, I still in bed, sat watching the seven racoons fight it out about who was going to get out first, and who..... might not ever get out...

This happened so regularly, that I eventually kept a small basket of golf balls by the bed, so I could burst forth and nail 'em as they sped for the door... I remember looking forward to the next encounter... and I occasionally did some warm-up practice throws right before going to sleep... ttr