Tom sits ramrod straight in bed at 2 am.
"We got another one." He hops up and charges out into the hallway. His footsteps recede.
Moments later, he's back.
"Another raccoon. In trap. Must put on pants and drive to park."
I roll over, pull the blankets over my head, and consider that I have the bionic woman for a husband. How else could he hear the Have-a-Heart Trap snap closed two floors below in the BASEMENT? Only with Lindsay Wagner's ears would this be possible.
At 3 am, I am awakened again. Tom has returned. He jumps into bed and anounces that this was the 7th raccoon we've caught in the basement, or else we've caught the same raccoon 7 times. The ambiguity bothered Tom, but no more. He McGyvered a late night fix and cleverly spray painted the raccoon's ass silver.
"He made a god-aweful noise, but I'll know if he comes back, the little bastard."
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