Mr. Raccoon

I was sitting on the patio under the outside light, smoking and reading "A Thousand Splendid Suns" when a raccoon shuffled up to me out of the darkness. I was amazed. He appeared to be the size of a small German shepard. A really big raccoon, in other words, though wearing the usual black mask. But he looked friendly enough. Hungry, perhaps. "Good evening, Mr. Raccoon," I said. I almost expected him to say something polite in response, maybe ask for the time or some leftovers. I would have directed him to the garbage can on the other end of the rancho. Instead, he stopped in his tracks, retreated slowly into the darkness and scurried away. Adios, Mr. Raccoon.