Had an odd scene at my campsite last night. Got up there around midnight and my feral cats were eagerly waiting for me. So I dumped out a can of cat food into the cat food dish.
But before my cats were able to eat much of it, a goddamn raccoon showed up. Now I can barely afford to feed my cats. I can’t afford to feed the goddamn raccoons, too. But the raccoon doesn’t care about that, the theivin’ bastard. The raccoon reached out with his front paws and started pulling the cat food dish towards him. So I grabbed the dish and pulled it back to the cats. And the raccoon grabbed the dish again and pulled it towards him. And I grabbed the dish and pulled it back. So we’re locked in this weird tug-of-war over the cat food dish, pulling back and forth. Me and the raccoon. I’m whispering under my breath “Would you get OUT of here, you!” I can’t really shout at the raccoon and scare him away. Because that would just scare my cats away, too. And then the raccoon would just come back as soon as I got into my sleeping bag, and make off with the cat food anyways. So I was stuck in this bind.
And I felt strangely ridiculous. That I was stuck in this jam. And I couldn’t out-smart this dumb beast, the raccoon. I’m the human being after all, and on top of the food chain, supposedly. But the fact is, when you live in the deep, dark woods, you’re on THEIR turf. And all the wild critters in the woods have a distinct advantage over me. For example, they all have much better night vision than me. And they’re also much more agile when it comes to traversing the hilly terrain (and I have the black-and-blue marks on my body to prove it). And considering how much alcohol I’ve usually drunk by this point, they’re often more clever than me, too. So it’s their world, and i just live in it.
So finally I just conceded defeat and poured half the cat food in one dish, and the other half in another dish. And set up separate dining facilities for the cats and the raccoon. And they all commenced to eat in peace. The End.