La tua piccola anima

 

August 16, 2022

Matt the John Brown-resembling animal whisperer looked in the attic and found not only my raccoon, but three newborn babies. He was not able to capture her then, but set a trap with sardines. I was home from Vestry and having a cocktail when I heard the commotion overhead that was her fighting against the trap. The big guy, the boss, came this morning to look for the babies, but didn’t find them. Matt will try again this afternoon. This story resists a happy ending at every turn. When we let mama go at the edge of the wood, she did not flee, but looked around, came close to us, poked at objects around her. She had the same expression on her face that she had when I saw her on the roof– “I’m doing everything right– why are you yelling at me?” Will she linger waiting for her babies? Are they already dead? Will we find them in the mess she left behind? I believe that, heavily pregnant, she climbed the cherry tree the last time it could be climbed. Because Ace Handymen had delayed, the roof was still open when she got there, and she re-entered. I sealed the house completely on Friday and, and her recognition of this resulted in the frantic scratching and clawing I heard all night for two nights. She gave birth early Monday, and soon after she was spotted, but in her panic she ruined her chances for easy survival. She did nothing wrong. She just did it in the wrong place. She was never violent or aggressive, but sort confiding and inquisitive, as though wondering what all the fuss was about. I feel terrible, without seeing how I could have played my hand differently. If they had sealed the roof when they contracted to do so, all would have been averted. Matt comes later to have a second try at finding the babies. I’m like one of those figures in a tragedy who abets and deepens the catastrophe without any intention of doing so. 

5 PM: hard rain. I got the echinacea I bought out into the garden just in time.

 An hour after mother raccoon stumbled off toward Merrimon, I stood in the grass where we released her, crying hard. For her babies there was no possible happy ending. The look on her face was bewilderment– what did I do wrong? The answer was, nothing. You did just as your bones told you to do, sweetheart, and here I stand with tears coursing down my face in solidarity with that innocence. All could have been well. Wellness was blocked at every turn. Little spirits everywhere, I am so sorry. I don’t know how to save you.