In a shocking example of modern man running afoul of primeval nature at its most sinister and horrifying, a local Mayor was confronted with almost certain death and/or dismemberment when, under the cover of darkness, he boldly ventured out into his own yard (he was actually inside the fence, however) to try to locate one of his two (2) housecats who had not yet come in for the night, in spite of the cold. The Mayor, never one to stand on pomp and ceremony, was walking about, feet clad only in 'unusual' moccasin-like house slippers that should never be seen by another living soul save himself and maybe his poor, sweet, (somewhat vision impaired, thank goodness for her!) mother ('those darn faux-Native American slippers were a gift, I swear it!! I'd never buy something like that - certainly not!! How dare you even suggest such a thing!!' he stammered lamely (while still wearing the offending 'footwear') with just a tad too much protest for genuine credibility), calling 'here kitty, kitty, kitty" and 'darn your eyes, you ungrateful wretch - come here right this instant!' (like that ever had a chance of working!) when out of the corner of his eye a dark, unholy shape began to pick up speed and approach at 'a hellish full gallop' (raccoons are known to reach running speeds approaching 15 MPH, although the Mayor's current land-speed potential is considerably less than that!) - thus causing the near-sighted and decidedly 'lilly-livered' Mayor to make a hasty (and ultimately flawed!) 'current threat analysis' that, if botched (as it was!), could result in an animal mauling unseen in Lamont since Thelma Festoon got her overly-large (some would modestly say 'beefy') hand stuck in the bird cage and received any number of vicious 'parakeet pecks' - several of which almost required stitches. Later crime scene analysis from the Lamont CSI proved the pecks to be largely defensive in nature, however, so no charges were ever filed! (Town sympathy from the start tended to run with the traumatized parakeet after this incident became widely known, needless to say!)"Well, I am by nature a shameless coward of near-biblical proportions, so thus my first inclination when seeing a boiling, angry, hissing mass of fangs and fur move with due dispatch in my general direction (whether friend or foe!) is to scream like a school girl and run for whatever shelter presents itself thru panicked, adrenaline-enhanced vision, regardless of how flimsy or dubious this protection turns out to be, but for some reason I was still harboring the near-fatal illusion that the charging 'Devil-Beast' or 'Spawn of Satan' or whatever it was could still possibly be my wayward, rebellious, obviously disloyal cat (in the dark, all cats and raccoons look gray - or so they say!) - so I lingered too long for good sense and comfort and the darn thing almost had a chance to head me off 'at the pass'. Sure, all that girl-like screaming more than likely served to disorient the beast and throw off the timing of its attack, but few people I know have a more overly developed 'fight or flight' response (heavy on the flight!) than I do, so I was ultimately saved by primordial instincts that I can take very little credit for" he said humbly!
Although no blood was actually shed that night, the intrepid Mayor, after regaining his composure (and changing his shorts!), found the supposedly 'lost cat' upstairs in the storage closet 'cat-napping' on a sleeping bag - and after a few choice words on the species-specific shortcomings of the feline animal group in general, proceeded to make sure all the doors were locked and thanked the Good Lord for the fact that, thru sheer laziness, the Mayor never got around to installing that new, fancy 'cat door' and thus exposing his person to nerve-wracking animal assaults at all hours of the day or night. The raccoon, however, wandered away into the darkness, no doubt chuckling at the overly-dramatic response it was able to illicit from a creature supposedly at the top of the so-called 'food chain'.
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