“Okay, I’ll try,” he said. “It is … er, appropriate that I … ah … commence by expounding on the theme of the State of the World as it was originally fashioned by the Great Raccoon Ancestor …”
Bandit interrupted in the High Tongue. “Brother, I beg you spare us this discourse which however worthy is not timely. You are swaying betwixt a house and a tree, kicking the Void.”
“Bandit,” Touchwit said wearily. “Be helpful, or shut up.”
“Put the analysis aside and go one way or the other. Then you can philosophize to your heart’s content.” Slypaws turned to Touchwit. “Whatever is wrong with him?”
“He’s having a Big Nothing Attack.”
“I am,” Clutch said. “There is something wrong with the state of the world. I smell the fumes of burning trees in the wind, and yet the selfsame breeze tells of constant rain, and sheets of ice are floating down our River, and the lawn between it and our dwelling is a small lagoon. The rhythms are a tangled ball of worms. The Geese People were supposed to fly over our house before the last full moon. They haven’t come. I dread the world and am afraid to venture out in it.”
Touchwit considered the situation of poor Clutch. Her high-minded brother, the one who relied on standards to live up to, was at a loss. There were no standards to live up to. The standards had refused to join the Spring migration.
Mother Slypaws sat and listened. I saw her soot-streaked tail hanging over the eavestrough. She’d know what to do.
“If you descend the tree, loving son, and let the rest of us proceed, we will go and see Aunt Pawsense and her bumptious daughters. We’ll grab some worms to eat on the way; maybe an egg that’s dropped out of a nest. You can share your Big Nothingburger with her. Then we’ll come home and turn it over in our hands. Is that alright?”
This seemed agreeable to Clutch, because he let go of the eavestrough and sprung into the cedar. He descended the swaying tree tentatively, facing upward. His brother and sister followed, then the mother, all nose first, unaware of my presence behind the windowpane.
5
The raccoons must have been exhausted by the experience of meeting their aunt and cousins because it wasn’t until late the following night that I again heard them talking. They were still excited about the event. Living in isolation from all their kind except a strange uncle, now deceased, they suddenly discovered they were members of a clan.
“Aunt Pawsense smells like crayfish and crab apples.”
“And our cousins are such athletes!”
“They’ve taken climbing classes, and tree lore, and tussling lessons, and swimming instruction.”
“They talk funny. They sound really well-mannered.”
Mother Slypaws intervened. “Yes, well that’s called polite discourse. I didn’t have time to teach it to you, and it’s not like we’ve had a whirl of social engagements. Remember, they’re older than you lot by a half a summer. But our winter in a chimney wasn’t wasted. You were home schooled.”
“I know, Mom, but we could still use some Outdoor Ed. You never told us about crayfish.”
“It’s fun to pick them apart. First throw away the head and tail.”
“And the corn! Did you see the way they ate it? They turn the ear of corn between their paws and nibble from one end to the other.”
“That’s old corn. My sister got it from a feed bin for animals. Wait till I give you Sweet Corn.”
“And the hamburger scraps!”
“We’ll have to have a lesson in Food Groups.”
“Not now, Mom. We’ve got too much to discuss.”
“Not to mention my problem.”
That was Clutch. Apparently, the night with his relatives had scarcely begun to resolve his crisis. I considered it brilliant of Slypaws to immerse her son in fresh perspective. Horizons would widen; attitudes would blur. The crisis would look after itself. And now the little family that had spent the first half year of its existence in a dark hole was about to indulge in a debriefing.
“Okay. What did you like about them the most? Yes, you go first, Clutch.”
“I liked how they’re so full of themselves. The world is totally confused, and they don’t care one bit. It doesn’t seem to bother them that something really intense could happen.”
“What about you, Bandit?”
“The girl energy! I didn’t know what a girl was until last night.”
“I’ve got girl energy,” Touchwit said.
“You’re not a girl – you’re my sister.”
“You should know what a girl is now. You wrestled with four of them at once,” Clutch said.
“I just wrestled with Sensibella. The other three kept trying to barge in.”
“What did you like about them, Touch?” her mother asked.
Touchwit thought for a moment. “I like how they’re so exotic. Their father isn’t from around here, is he?”
“No,” Slypaws said. “He’s from the Greater Raccoonopolitan Area. Before that, I don’t know. Somewhere east where the sun awakens. Near an ocean where the air is moist and the winter is moderate.”
“They have such high cheekbones and golden fur,” Clutch said. “I suppose I could get used to them. After all, they’re my first cousins.”
“They brush out their huge glossy tails so you can see every ring. They must spend all evening on their tails,” Touchwit said.
Clutch seemed ambiguous about his relatives. Touchwit was analytical. In contrast, Bandit was over the moon. “I’m going to mate with them,” he declared.
