J-Fed Meets His Match

It’s never a dull moment when it comes to the Fedster. This week we received an unwelcomed visit from a pesky little four legged creature. At first I thought J-Fed had put the word out to all the wayward animals that they should feel free to take up residency at our humble abode. We already had two dogs and a cat. What was one more?

The dogs were the first to alert us to our new arrival who slept soundly on the roof of our shed. Upon first glance it appeared we had a wasp nest the size of Houston. Suddenly, I got visions of being swarmed and stung to death. It was a huge gray mass up in the corner. But then I put on my glasses and noticed the gray matter was a more grave matter. You see, we had a raccoon.

I debated on whether to tell J-Fed. I mean, if it was anything like the cat, it too would be living in our garage within a week. I could hear him now… Rabies… Like a little case of rabies ever hurt anyone.

But J-Fed surprised me and agreed that the raccoon had to go. It could be rabid, he warned. I imagined it hissing and foaming at the mouth. For a brief moment, I actually identified with the raccoon. And then I smiled and summoned J-Fed as I gleefully pictured my personal nemesis going head to head with a creature more vicious than myself. And one that could give him a communicable disease to bat! Oh the places we could go…

Anyways, J-Fed agreed the raccoon had to go. The last thing he wanted was some creepy critter digging through our garbage. That could be a recipe for disaster, especially if he had to clean up the mess. At first he reached for an empty Frappaccino bottle, but then thought twice about chucking the glass container at the side of our house.

Instead J-Fed decided to arm himself with what he considered the proper tools to rid our house of Rocky the Raccoon. In his hands, he held four small plastic bottles of paint, which he planned to use as missiles to chase off Rocky.

Before I had the chance to protest, he pelted the raccoon with the red bottle, the blue bottle, the green bottle, and the orange bottle in rapid succession. They splattered all right, all over our next door neighbor’s freshly painted house. It looked like a rainbow of fruit flavors. I knew Rocky was howling on the inside at the stupid human who failed to remove him.

Oh… My… God… The horror. What would we tell our neighbor? How would we ever explain that we’d given his house our own paint job? I just couldn’t imagine. J-Fed and I stared at each other while the raccoon looked on with amusement. Pissed as hell, J-Fed went for the shovel. He had been defeated by another venomous vixen, and now it was personal. For the moment, he couldn’t even think about the paint job. He was a moron with a mission.

As he swung the shovel, I worried that J-Fed would soon be J-Dead if the raccoon got mad enough. I smirked as I pictured the angry raccoon lunging at J-Fed, sinking it's dirty claws into J-Fed's handsome face. Then I envisioned the even angrier neighbor going after J-Fed. I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off. Some days, it was soooo worth staying married to the Fedster.

When the shovel didn’t do the job, J-Fed opted for the water hose and sprayed down Rocky. Off he went, leaving us to figure out what on Earth we’d tell the neighbor. Sadly, J-Fed made it through the ordeal unscathed, which is more than I could say for our neighbor’s house.