Who Was That Masked Man?

An intruder got into my house. I’d fallen asleep on my couch, with my face buried in the couch's back cushions. I was in that sort of twilight doze, between sleep and wakefulness - when I heard a long, low sound of exhalation right in my ear. I drowsily thought it might be my own heavy breathing. I was just getting over a cold. I tested it. I took a breath. No - it wasn't me.

The heavy breath came again. Now I woke a little more, but I still thought I might be dreaming, hallucinating. No. It came again, a heavy, resonant exhalation, a long “Whhhooooooooo.”

Now I was fully awake, rigid with fear. Someone or Something was definitely right behind me, breathing into my ear. It wasn't any of my cats. They never make a sound like that. What? A serial killer who’d quietly crept into my house somehow, and now hovered over me before striking – toying with me as he pondered, “Where shall I make my first cut?”

Well, there was nothing for it. As much as I didn't want to, I knew I had to turn around and face whatever it was. I rolled over and came nose-to-nose with - an enormous raccoon!

The raccoon was on the footstool right next to my sofa, and had been leaning over, breathing directly into my ear. Had it been snarling? Had it been salivating, ready to start feasting? Or had it been trying to communicate with me?

About a dozen years before, I had befriended a raccoon I’d named Ricky That raccoon would often come into my house through the pet door, play violently with my feather duster, whipping it around back and forth as if shaking a bird it had caught. Then it would settle down on that same footstool and watch TV with me. I’d give it popcorn or peanuts or other tidbits and it would sit there, picking the crumbs of food off its paunch. Once it had held out a paw, and briefly, (I know, against all warnings about the dangers of raccoons) - we'd held hands/paws. But I hadn’t seen Ricky in over a decade.

It was hardly likely though that this raccoon was Ricky. It would be very unusual for a wild animal like this to live that long. As this raccoon stared into my eyes, it seemed mild-mannered enough. It wasn't snarling at the moment. We just looked at each other. Then, after a few more seconds, it matter-of-factly jumped off the footstool and made its way back to the cats' pet door. It stopped to peer in my garbage pail on the way (which I had luckily just emptied before starting my nap).

Then when the raccoon got to the pet door, it had a problem. Like Winnie-the-Pooh after over-indulging in rabbit's honey-pots - this furry 40+ pound creature also got temporarily stuck in the opening. For a moment, I thought I might have to risk going over and giving it a push on the derriere to get it unplugged from the door. But that didn’t seem as if it would be a good idea. The creature’s friendliness might be strained by being delivered of a good shove in the rear.

So I just watched as it wiggled and wriggled. It eventually contorted itself, Houdini-like, through the opening, and was gone. I went out in the yard every night for a couple of weeks after that, looking for it. But I never saw it again. It had just materialized to breathe ominously in my ear - and then had vanished. Had it been Ricky saying a last good-bye to me? Or had it been the transferred spirit of Ricky? I was left with the question - Who was that masked man?