BK and the Bandit

I live on an industrial kind of block in South Park Slope, Brooklyn, one block from the East River. Our neighborhood has a mix of 3 story row houses and brick warehouses.
Our neighbors are a mix of Italian, Polish and Middle Eastern families who have - as far as I know - lived here for several generations. Only recently have displaced hipsters migrated from Manhattan. The Mr. and I have lived in our loft-style apartment for 6 years, and while the landscape has changed very little in our time in the neighborhood, the types of folks getting on and off the train has morphed dramatically. It used to be we were the only people commuting during daytime hours, except for those commuting home after a night shift. Now our trains are crowded with urbanites going to their media industry jobs, all too cool for school. But I lived here before there were non-Chinese delivery options. I win.
I like talking with Tony, the mayor of our block. He grew up in the house he currently lives in, and owns another multi-family home next door where his daughter lives. He is not in the best of health, and has a scare every couple of months. I see him on his scooter nearly every morning alternately inhaling from an oxygen tank, then a cigarette. He once told me about a massive feast of shellfish he had consumed despite an allergy to shellfish. This binge, no surprise, was followed by a trip to the hospital where doctors had to drain fluid from his ankles and joints because they had swelled four times their size.
Tony has assured me that I am “safe” in our neighborhood, mostly owing to his last name. He has friends at our police precinct (his words “a lot of mafia”), and even though there is a convicted felon on our block (only murder. Of a prostitute. Right around the corner.), this man’s attempt to threaten Tony on one occasion didn’t go far, because Tony reminded him of his last name ("you don't want to mess with me. Do you know what my last name is?"). He told me his last name, and it’s the name of a town in Italy. Because I like knowing I’m safe because of Tony, I wont tell you which town.

Welcome to New York!

The man who served time for murder (and is now unarguably reformed, and all better, right? As long as I don’t turn the corner and sell sex at the same time, I should be fine, right?) has a pit bull that he walks every day, and he does his due diligence and bags the waste. He then leaves the bag of dog feces on the curb near a newly planted tree, across the street from his house. Even if I didn’t know about his crimes of passion, this behavior is interesting insight to his...psyche.

I saw something the other night, however, that I don’t think Tony or his family or his friends can protect me from. This was one of those “what the fuck” moments that happen in New York, and had it happened outside New York, it would not have the same impact.

The Mr. and I were parking our car in front of our building at about 1AM. It was a quiet night, no one around. As we were opening our doors, we saw an animal loping up the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, coming from the direction of the river. Dog? A little too skinny. Cat? Much too large. Oh, of course it was a raccoon!

This was no ordinary raccoon. I grew up in suburbs outside of Seattle, and I know raccoons. I have been camping and I know raccoons. They’re frisky, ornery critters who are only after your grub. I get it. This raccoon, however, had apparently been feasting on maybe horses. It was the size of a Dalmatian, I’d say. It’s legs were shaped like a deer’s in that I could see the backwards joint of the hind legs. It was running - trotting - galloping up the street much like a coyote. If this raccoon stood on its hind-legs, he could rest his front paws on my shoulders.

We got out of the car, marveling. It ran up the block away from us. The Mr. locked the car doors. We turned to go inside, and realized the critter was on our side of the street now.
“Honey, unlock the car doors”
“What, he’s over there now”

The demon had now run past us and was heading towards the water again.

“Dude, unlock the car doors, I need to get in”

The Mr. remotely unlocked the door, which makes a honking sound. This frightened Satan-raccoon, and he turned back towards us. Dear husband now locked the doors again. I jumped up on the rear bumper of the car, no easy task in clogs, and considered climbing on top of the car. While the poor, frightened, confused, evil animal turned back towards us, a yard or two away, his eyes caught the light, and as they do, glowed red. Finally Lil’ Human Eater decided to run towards the water, and I decided to run inside.

I spent the rest of the evening with crazy-Gemini emotions, going from “oh that poor, poor creature, he’s so out of his element, he’s so scared, he’ll never make it here!” to “what the fuck has that raccoon been eating and why is it here and why must he be so huge, and trying to eat me!?”

We did a little research, and well -

This happened...

Then THIS happened!

AND OH MY EFFING GOD THIS IS A BLOCK AWAY!!!

I NEVER should have done that research! Now I’m afraid to leave the house!