I was a little bit excited for Mindy to become more mobile and starting to play with new things. It meant she didn’t have to be carried everywhere. She started playing with the cat, getting into things… but hey… I could shower without being serenaded by the song of her people. (Turn on your sound for the video, if you dare.)
She’d play in the bathroom, and as long as I put my towel up high, I was golden. While she likes to wade in a little bit of water, being splashed by the shower was not her cup of tea, so I could shower in private while Mindy and Cougar entertained themselves in the room. She doesn’t have to be locked up, I get to take a shower… win/win, right? Not so much.
You see… Mindy had secretly entered the CLING PHASE. Without warning, Mindy jumped into the tub. I wasn’t concerned.. the splash would scare her back out quick enough. I was wrong. So wrong. Now that she has entered the CLING PHASE, anything scary, even if I’m the source, can only be battled by being on mom’s shoulder.
I still have no idea what spooked her. Cougar swears it wasn’t him. I think he’s lying. Never trust the word of a cat.
If you’ve never had the pleasure of having a raccoon scale your exposed flesh like it was a tree, you should try it. Its one of those experiences that will be etched in your memory for the rest of your life. Kind of like the first time your shin met a receiver hitch, or that time your friend smacked you with the hot dog skewer fresh from the fire at camp. It’s a pain so intense and unique that someone who has not experienced it cannot fully comprehend the momentary plane shift into one of the circles of hell… whichever one causes the most pain.
(I’m just kidding about the you should try it part. Don’t. Seriously. Just don’t.)
She leapt up my body so fast, she was past my knees before I could grab her. That move was also a mistake, because her death grip just transferred to my arms. She wouldn’t stop struggling and digging in until she made it to my shoulder. Once perched, she sat complaining about the water with her nails dug in.
Then an idea rattled around in her brain like a BB in a tuna fish can. This brilliant idea told her that kissing mom would make her life all better. This, of course, meant her nails had to dig into my chest to hold herself in place while she aggressively tried to clean the water off my nose and lips.
The shower water is now more pink than clear. I have raccoon claws sunk into my clavicle. My legs are bleeding more profusely than that time I stupidly tried to shave with a dull razor… while drunk. But by golly, I have raccoon kisses.
At this point, I figure it can’t possibly get worse, so I grab the baby shampoo and finish the job…. on Mindy AND myself. I’m covered with fur at this point anyway. What’s a little more? Mindy showed her lack of appreciation by moving to my other shoulder, adding extra puncture wounds to my now hole-y skin, and in general protesting the entire situation.
By the time it was all said and done, I was very glad that I had a spare towel available, and that it wasn’t a white towel. It would have been pink by the time I was dry anyway. I am now contemplating the merits of a hard sliding door for the tub instead of mere shower curtains. Perhaps a door made of titanium would do? Until that day arrives, I’ll have to deal with the serenade. It is marginally better than being turned into a living connect-the-dots pattern via raccoon puncture wounds.
Raccoon Adventures 