While you're waiting for this little Flash film clip to load (My father took this film on my seventh birthday with his 16mm Bell and Howell camera), I'll tell you about this unforgettable raccoon. When I was 6 years old, my mother took me to a pet shop in Minneapolis and we came home with a baby raccoon. The day was a Friday; so, we called the critter Friday - we we're new at naming feral animals, and 'Rascal' was taken.
Friday spent over a year with us. He slept in bed with me and was housebroken - used the room's fireplace which was lined with newspaper. I remember the first time I awoke thinking I'd gone blind till it occurred twas a coonskin hat asleep on my face - Friday didn't mind intimacy.
When he was old enough, he'd escort me to the bus stop at the end off our driveway. One day a car came to a screeching halt; a young man jumped out pointing his finger at the little coon while yelling 'don't go any nearer'. Took awhile to calm down the good Samaritan
It was my mother's idea to get me a raccoon, but she was the one who had to mind him while I was at school. We had a laundry chute from my room on the third floor leading all the way to the basement where, usually underneath, there was a hamper filled with soiled clothing. All too often when mother was in the kitchen she'd find herself screaming 'Friday' in exasperation as the mischievous coon whooshed spread eagle down the shaft. Loads of fun for a daring raccoon, but worrisome for a mother who was never certain the hamper was full.
Friday stayed with us for a little over a year; before his second winter came, he knew it was time to start a family. He would come by the house, scratching on the kitchen screen door and come in for food and a visit; but, he did this more and more infrequently till it had been six months since we saw him. The familiar scratching on the kitchen door was heard on Christmas day. We spent the morning together till Friday, fat and roly-poly, started panting and needed some fresh air; so we said our final 'good-bye'.
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