It may look like a photo of a branch on a roof but don't be fooled. That, my friends, is the highway to Hell.
A family of raccoons has moved in somewhere nearby (OK, I'll be honest, I'm pretty sure they're under the house) and they're holding a series of cocktail parties and get-acquainted mixers for the rest of the raccoons here in Paradise Cove.
Last night, no fewer the a hundred of them moved the festivities, a rave, I think, to the roof. Climbed right up that tree, hired a live band and danced, with lots of thumping and squealing and galloping about. Maisie the Teacup Lab, needless to say, was beside herself. She came thisclose to climbing the tree to break up the party.
At what time, you ask? At 3 a.m., right after she barked like a maniac in her disturbingly low voice, rousted me out of a warm bed and yelled at me until I climbed up on the roof in my pajamas and bare feet and then realized just how dumb that was as a herd of drunken raccoons thundered past. But it did no good. They came again and then again, all night long, and we got no sleep. All that was left this morning were some beer cans, a few tiny glow sticks, and a couple of hits of X.