There is a large raccoon on my porch. I don't have much experience guessing the weight of raccoons, but if I had to I'd say it's around sixteen pounds. This fellow is very much unafraid. I own two cats, which I cannot see at the moment. Until shown otherwise, I will assume he ate them--surely this is why he is so large. He was scratching at my door a few moments ago, no doubt trying to get a taste of my own precious flesh.
Now, I don't own a gun.
I played baseball as a child, but that majestic wooden stick vanished long ago.
I do, however, own a Benchmade 551S.
I also own a very thick Carhartt coat, nearly new. I do not own gloves of any kind.
Now, I could don my coat, take knife in hand, and do battle with this rabid beast. But I have an internal struggle.
I read "Rascal" as a child. Written by Sterling North, it is the true accounting of his childhood with his pet raccoon. If you have not read it, do so now.
But I also listened to Escape as a child, including the episode entitled "Three Skeleton Key."
So, if you were in my position, what would you do?
(You can't say, "Call animal control." If you say that, you're no fun.)