Repost: Conversations with mother.

Something humorous for our dark days:  a phone conversation with mother on a hot, steamy night a few years back.

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I often have peculiar phone conversations with my mother and other members of my family.  Last night, I had one that was a little more odd than usual.  The following is a transcript of the conversation.

Warning:  If you're a member of PETA, or otherwise care about furry critters, don't read any of what follows.

Puff, to me, while I am working in the garage, at about 10:30 at night:  Your mother's on the phone.  She says there's raccoon in her house.

Me:  I'm two hours away by transit.  What does she want me to do about it?

Puff:  Just try and calm her down.

Me, kissing any more of my precious shop time good-bye in Yosemite Sam fashion:  razzle fracking mumblemumblemumble.  I go upstairs to the phone.  Hi Mom, How are you doing?

Mom:  There's a raccoon in the house.

Me:  Where?

Mom:  In the basement.

Me:  Did you shut the door to keep it there?

Mom:  I'm not that senile.  Yet.

Me:  That's good. Well, you seem to have the situation well in hand, and since there's nothing I can do I'll just...

Mom:  There is something you can do.

Me, kissing goodbye at any chance at a quick return to the the shop: What do you want me to do?

Mom: I need you to seal up the old milk box.  I think that's how he came in.

Me:  Tonight?

Mom:  No. The next time you're here.  I don't know where your bat is.

Me:  What bat?

Mom:  Sorry.  I was talking to your brother.

Me:  What's he doing?

Mom:  He was looking for the raccoon earlier, but he couldn't find it anywhere.

Me:  Are you sure it came in through the milk box?

Mom:  It must have.  They have paws like hands, you know.  He could open it.

Me:  Could he then close it from the inside so it locks on the outside?

Mom:  How else could he have come in?

Me:  You may have a hole in your wall down there somewhere.

Mom:  Don't say that.  I've so many troubles lately, and everything costs so much money.  I hope you're wearing thick gloves.

Me:  Why would I wear gloves?  It's hotter than heck out there.

Mom:  Not you.  Your brother.  If you think there's a hole down there, I want you to fix that too, the next time you're out here.

Me:  Argh.

Mom:  For now, I just want it out of my house.  He gave me such a fright when I saw him.  I screamed so loud your brother came running to see if I had been hurt.

Me:  If you can stand a shock like that, at least we know your heart's okay.

Mom:  Laughs.  That's not funny.

muffled bangs followed by muffled shouting.

Me:  Is that brother?

Mom:  Yes.  I wish he wouldn't use such language.

More shouting. 

Mom:  I hope you're praying for him.

Me:  You mean right now, or generally?

More shouting.  More banging.

Mom:  Both.  I think I need to go.   He's saying something about a box.

Me:  Mom, stay away from (click).

Puff:  How is she?

Me:  That's an interesting question.

Ten minutes later, the phone rings.

My brother, breathless:  Don't worry.  I've taken care of it.

Me:  What happened?

Him:  I killed it with my bat.  It took a while.  He didn't want to die.

Me:  (Inwardly: O crap) outwardly:  What are you going to do with it, now?

Him:  What do you mean?

Me:  Remember that guy a few weeks ago who killed a raccoon in his yard with a shovel and got charged for cruelty to animals?

Him:  It's different when it's in the house.  (pauses for a moment)  But to be safe, I'll wait until about 2 in the morning, then throw it in the road and drive over it a few times.  What do you think?

Me:  I didn't hear that.

At the end of it all, I feel sorry for the raccoon.