The answer came when he wasn’t thinking about it. It was obvious, now he’d figured it out.
The humans put up these cone things to block him shimmying all the way up the drain pipe. It was clever. No one could stay they weren’t clever. The raccoon sat right beneath the pipe and looked up at the cone stretching over his head like the crown of a tree. At first he didn’t think that he could climb around it. But why not? Without yet trying his theory, he knew it would work, because it was so simple.
The raccoon grabbed hold of the pipe with all his paws and pulled himself up, up, up, and when he got to the cone, climbing around it was easier than he’d imagined. There was a dodgy moment when he had to grip tightly to the cone’s edge with his forepaws and let the back ones push him around it and to the top and then, just like that, he was climbing the rest of the way.
It was an impressive test. This one had taken him a couple days to puzzle out, but he never doubted he would. He loved the little obstacles the humans put out for him, and surprised how easily he found the solutions.
He’d started to think about the humans more, what they had planned, and how the obstacles were part of it. The raccoon had always asked questions, but usually it was about whether there was food in one place or other and, if there was, how he could get it. But these new questions were different; he’d never really wondered about the humans in this way.
He’d always liked the humans, probably because they were a lot like raccoons. He liked to watch them, and learn, because they were a couple steps ahead. As he reached the top of the drain pipe and squeezed himself into the little opening he’d made just under the roof—they hadn’t found it yet, to his relief—the raccoon entertained an idea that had come to him before.
Humans didn’t do anything just because. These tests, these obstacles, must have a purpose. He’d thought maybe it was to keep him out, but that didn’t make sense, because they didn’t work in that way. The purpose, then, must be to get raccoons ready for something, and for that something, they needed to get really smart, really fast. He had an idea about this, too. Changes were coming, big ones—maybe catastrophic ones—and someone needed to inherit the Earth.
The raccoon shimmied to the cozy den he’d made himself in the corner of the attic and curled up to sleep, asking himself what he’d do if he could do anything—say, if the Earth belonged to him. He knew there was an answer, but he couldn’t see it yet; perhaps he had more learning to do, and it would come. And so he slipped into sleep and dreamed of what that day might be like.
News & Other WIPs
I have four stories submitted to six publications at the moment, and hopefully, each story will get picked up by someone. Among these stories is this weirdo, which I’m actually quite proud of. I’m trying to expand my creative horizons and do some different things lately, using ample backstory I’ve created for multiple stories and books as a springing-off point for short creative works.
As I hinted at last month, this piece is called How to Navigate Your New Reality: A Question & Answer Guide from the Inter-Timeline Travel Bureau, and it’s styled to read like a pamphlet for accidental time travelers. It’s inspired by the now-being-written sixth Frontenac Sisters book, The Only Constant. Like I said, it’s weird, but I had so much fun writing it. There are lot of little details in there and it’s meant to be contradictory and kind of make no sense in places. For those of you who’ve worked for government (like I have, unfortunately), this “pamphlet” might sound a bit familiar.
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