Summary

Bev writes an open letter to a raccoon, Rocky, who has taken up residence in their basement, expressing humor and affection towards the unexpected houseguest.

Abstract

Bev humorously writes an open letter to Rocky, a raccoon who has made a home in their basement, apologizing for initially mistaking it for a groundhog. They express curiosity about Rocky's activities in the basement, suspecting it to be building a raccoon kingdom. Bev jokingly suggests that Rocky is a Gen Z raccoon who can't afford rent and should get a real job. Despite the inconvenience, Bev has grown attached to Rocky, visiting twice a day to share about their day, and receiving "gifts" from the raccoon in return.

Opinions

Bev humorously compares Rocky to a Gen Z raccoon who can't afford rent and needs to get a real job.
Bev expresses affection towards Rocky, calling it a free therapist and a wise dumpster shark.
Bev is concerned about Rocky's activities in the basement, suspecting it to be building a raccoon kingdom.
Bev shares that they have grown attached to Rocky and enjoys visiting it twice a day to share about their day.
Bev receives "gifts" from Rocky, such as plastic bags and insulation, and wonders if they are signs or messages.

Open Letters

An Open Letter to the Raccoon That Lives in My Basement

You’re so much more than just a giant rodent that’s taking advantage of me.

All raccoons are named Rocky. I don’t make the rules. (Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash)

Dear Rocky,

First of all, I’d like to apologize for thinking you were a groundhog. But it’s dark in my basement, and you’ve taken up residence in an old coal chute in a hundred-year-old house, so cut me some slack. I’ve got a lot going on, not least of which is ancient electrical wiring, snakes in my bedroom, and now a feral tub of lard who contributes nothing towards the heating bill.

Somehow you came in from the outside (I’m still trying to Nancy Drew that one), chewed through the drywall compound and screening that covered the hole in the basement wall, and then ALSO chewed through the plastic utility bucket that I shoved into the hole as a barrier, pushing big chunks of tooth-pocked plastic back out as if to taunt me.

So I shoved another utility bucket into the hole. The same thing happened.

So THEN I shoved in some metal gutter-guard screening that I had laying around, and you took it. Why? Why do you need metal screening? What in God’s name are you doing in there? I hear a lot of noise at night — hammering? Welding? Are you constructing your raccoon kingdom?

Anyway, the radical chewing behavior led me to believe that you were a common dirt pig. But when I peered through the glass storm door that I now have wedged over the hole, creating a sort of terrarium, I saw the teddy-bear ears and beady black eyes that could only belong to that most beloved of nocturnal pests, the trash panda.

Look, I get it. You’re probably Gen Z. Rents are sky-high, the real estate market is insane, and you feel like you’ll never be able to afford your own home.

But you can. You just need to stop spending all of your money on avocados and organic tofu. Get a real job instead of just blogging all day. Stop saying you’re “training to be a life coach.” That’s not a thing.

Under COVID regulations, I can’t even evict you. Not that I would. I once had a rental property that I let someone live in free of charge for six months because I didn’t have the heart to kick them out. I also had tenants who were dressed head-to-toe in Tommy Hilfiger and paid me entirely in $1 bills. I don’t ask questions.

Clearly, you’ve heard about this and decided I was an easy touch.

Well, you’re right. I don’t even want to mention the things that have been suggested to me as ways to “convince” you to move. Baseball bats and bear spray are the least of it. We’re talking Liam Neeson-level options.

A lot of people have mentioned that I better hope you’re not a girl. Honestly, I have no idea. I’m not real up-to-date on raccoon biology. I do know you could cut back on the late-night snacking and maybe burn a calorie. Just a suggestion.

Anyway, I don’t expect you to read this, what with all the drilling and chewing and thumping you have to do. You’re busy. We all are.

And honestly, I’ve grown pretty attached to you. I visit you twice a day to say good morning and to check in at night. Sometimes I tell you about my day. It’s a one-sided conversation, but I know you’re listening. You’re like a free therapist.

Sometimes you shove something through the hole at me — a plastic bag or some insulation you’ve found. Are these gifts, or signs? Should I insulate myself from the world? Should I chew on a plastic bag and then put all of my troubles into it?

Wise, wise Rocky. My heart has been stolen by a dumpster shark. What did I ever do without you?

XOXO,

Bev