No, bad move.
Rochelle drifted her eyes left so that the world lost focus. She didn't move, though the fence cut into her chest. Behind her the kids scurried away; she hear their pitter-patter across the pine needles and then their scratching on the bark as they climbed the tree.
Safe. They're safe.
“Do you think she believes she's invisible?”
“She's not looking at us. If she can't see us...”
Rochelle could hear the voices; the note of laughter grated into her ears. She felt Them. Standing there next to the Food. It wasn't safe. She couldn't go for it. She was hungry. But she couldn't. Maybe if she just hung there, They would go away.
“Oh, look at the darlings in the tree!”
“Where? Oh, yep, she's a mama.”
The squeal pushed her. It actually hurt in her head, like a stick poking against her side. Like gnashing teeth when she had done wrong. And They sounded closer. She slowly begin to sink backward off the fence. The voices continued, subsiding, as the fence came between Them and Rochelle. She scrabbled down to the ground, then sat her haunches and checked the kids.
Safe in the tree. And hungry, like her. But maybe, if she went around the corner to the hole, she could sneak to the Food and They wouldn't see her. Maybe. She ambled along the fence, so close that she brushed against it. At the corner she paused ever so slightly, motionless, and listened. Hearing nothing she turned the corner.
And immediately smelled Food. Not from the usual place, but somewhere new. It stopped her in her tracks. She wriggled her nose, rotating her head to scan the area. The Food was over by the bush, just a few feet from the fence. She almost trilled to call the kids, but held back. Check it out first.
Just a few steps more and a brilliant red bowl seemed to call out to her. That seemed to be where the Food scent was coming from. But the brilliant red bowl was inside a small, boxlike fence, a kind she had never seen before. She would barely fit inside it; she could squeeze into it though. And They didn't seem to be around; she couldn't hear them anymore.
She hugged the fence until she was directly across from the red bowl, then craned her neck and looked all around. The backyard was half in shade and half in sunlight. Nothing moved. She ducked her head and crossed the few feet of wide open grass to the strange wire fence and went inside, her coat brushing against the sides.
Her nose touched the red bowl. She heard a rattle and snap behind her. The Food was forgotten. She couldn't turn around. She pushed herself to back out but something stopped her. Where was the opening? She squeezed herself into a tight ball, so tight her sides hurt, and craned her neck to look behind her. She couldn't turn. She couldn't see.
She growled and hissed and bolted forward. The red bowl went flying. The Food scattered, stuck to her. She smashed against the wire in front, tried to turn again. She couldn't turn around. She couldn't see behind her. Somehow there was no way out.
But she had teeth, claws. She lunged forward, gripped the wire with her feet and pulled it to her. Her open jaws took in two strands of the wire and she bit down. But the wire bit back. She retreated, tasting blood. There was no way out. Unable to escape, she trilled loudly for the kids.
No, stupid, they can't help.
But she couldn't help herself. She was stuck. She needed someone. She trilled again and again. Finally she could hear them answer, then rustle in the grass, then nuzzle around the outside of the cage. She knew they couldn't help her, but seeing them, seeing they were okay, calmed her. She sat still and quiet inside the cage.
The shadow grew longer on the grass. The kids circled around the cage for awhile, snacking on the Food that she had knocked out of the bowl into the grass, then huddled together underneath the bush. She could just turn her head enough to see them, and not knowing what else to do, she watched them and saw that they were safe.
Then the backdoor of the house screeched open and slammed. The kids scurried away. She pushed again to back out of the cage; she twisted herself until it hurt trying to turn around. Footsteps of a Man swished in the grass.
“Ha! I got you, you rascal.”
Rochelle hissed, lunging forward and backward against the cage. The smell of Them filled her. The ground fell away. She clutched at the wire stiff-legged, her skin bristling.
“Settle down there. We're gonna go for a little ride.”
The man threw the cage with the raccoon in the bed of his pickup truck and hopped in the cab. He twisted the rearview mirror until he could see himself and adjusted his red baseball cap. He was pleased.
The raccoons in the neighborhood had gotten out of hand. It seemed every morning when he stepped out on the back porch he found the trash cans knocked over, trash scattered and blowing in the yard. Sure, the suburb backed onto a wooded area – you expected the wildlife to cross the boundary once in awhile. But every morning was too much.
Of course it didn't help that the neighbor across the street actually put food out for the varmints. Crazy old lady. Some mornings her yard looked like Dr. Doolittle's with the raccoons and 'possums and even rabbits scurrying around.
The man twisted the mirror back in place and turned the key. Then he grinned. In the mirror he could see crazy lady standing on her front porch. Maybe she would see the raccoon in its cage as he backed down the drive. Show her how you're supposed to treat wild animals.
“Make America great again,” he said, as he put the truck in gear.
Cover for “Rochelle” designed in Canva, using this week's A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words prompt image (image source).
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