I’ve seen a lot of wild life in Marin: Owls in Larkspur. Wild turkeys in San Anselmo. A wild boar off Alpine Dam road. Coyotes in Corte Madera. Bobcats the size of big dogs in the headlands between Sausalito and Mill Valley. And of course the common deer everywhere from Tiburon to Novato.

But in the woods or the yard is one thing; seeing them in your kitchen is another thing entirely.

Early this morning I went into the kitchen to put the teakettle on. I thought I heard the cat door open, but thought “Nah, it couldn’t be.” We’ve kept it locked shut for a couple years precisely because of previous problems with those clever bandits coming in to eat the cat’s food. Yet, somehow, a huge raccoon had managed to get it open again, for there it was — or at least the rear half of it – wedged tightly in the cat door frame like Winnie-the-Pooh in his honey jar, struggling to make its way out.

I banged on the door to scare it on its way, and it managed to wriggle through, but oddly enough, afterward, it just sat there on my back porch resting, with its bushy tail still inside the cat door. Later, when my husband went out to get the newspapers, the raccoon was just sitting in our driveway. Clearly there was something wrong with this one.


I called Animal Control, and learned firsthand how this sort of thing works in Marin County.

First, a real, live person answered my call. Then, the same young man I spoke to on the phone arrived within the hour. Spotting the raccoon, now resting in the crook of the ginkgo tree about 10 feet up, he walked over and crooned sweetly to it, “What’s the matter, girl? You sure look sick.” Without further ado, he climbed up with a net, and as the raccoon scuttled clumsily further up the tree, he followed, and eventually caught her in his long handled net.

Unfortunately, the raccoon’s weight knocked the officer off balance, and to catch himself from falling 50 feet to the ground, he dropped net and raccoon in the bushes. The raccoon took off across the yard, enmeshed in the net, dragging the long handle behind her. She went through a gap in the fence into the neighbor’s yard. The neighbors’ dogs went crazy, but it was the intrepid young Animal Control guy who caught her and bought her gently back to the truck.

“Yep” he told me, “She’s real sick — badly infected injured front leg. I’m taking her to Wild Care in San Rafael for some antibiotics and rest. They’ll take good real good care of her, and release her when she’s well again.”

“That’s wonderful! How nice!” I said, remembering chaperoning my daughter’s class on a field trip to this lovely place. Then, on further thought, I added, “Umm—release her where?”

“Back here.”

“Here? You mean at my house? You’re kidding, right?”

“No, that’s what they always do. They get her well, then bring her back where she was found.”

I’m not sorry the creature will be well cared for. But I can only marvel that in this day and age we have the wherewithal to do so! Our tax dollars at work. Well, I guess it’s better than a bear in the hot tub, like my former client had down in La Canada.

My mother, who knows a thing or two about wrangling wild life, suggested that I get the word out on Marin’s raccoon network that the kitchen is closed! Nailing my son’s old Davy Crockett cap to the back door seems too barbaric, although it’s only fake fur. In the meantime, I can expect the special delivery of a house-friendly, healthy, huge raccoon delivered right to my front door in about three weeks! Any takers?

Image provided by Alan Vernon.