The Simple Wild (Wild 1)

“Shoo! Go on!” I yell, expecting it to hightail out the cracked porch door where it clearly snuck through.

But it merely glares at me with its beady eyes before turning back to my sandwich.

I give a nearby plastic

bin a kick. “Get out of here!”

The raccoon chatters at me, that odd squeaking sound grating on my nerves.

And then it scampers forward.

I take several stumbling steps back, losing half my plate of food to the floor and spilling my smoothie all over my jeans as I try to get away from it.

It’s temporarily distracted by a rolling carrot, picking it up in its nimble paws, flipping it this way and that.

Are Alaskan raccoons different from Toronto raccoons?

Will this one attack?

There’s a straw broom perched in the corner. I dump the plate and glass on a nearby ledge and grab the handle, getting a good grip with two hands, ready to take a swing.

“Bandit!” a deep voice calls.

The raccoon stands on its hind legs and turns toward the voice, pausing to listen.

“Bandit! Get over here!”

It takes off, squeezing through the ajar porch door. I watch, with the broom handle still gripped within my fists, as the animal trots across the lawn toward Jonah, to stop a mere foot away. It stands on its hind legs and reaches up into the air.

“Hey, buddy. You getting into trouble?” Jonah gives the raccoon’s head an affectionate scratch, to which it chatters back excitedly.

“You have got to be kidding me!” My face twists in horror as realization sinks in. “He’s your pet?”

“No. You’re not allowed to have raccoons as pets in the state of Alaska,” Jonah says matter-of-factly.

“So, what is he, then? Because he sure looks like a pet.”

“He’s a raccoon that likes to hang out around my house.” Jonah’s gaze narrows at the broom in my hand. “What were you planning on doing with that?”

“Chase him out of here before he bit me.”

“He won’t bite you unless you give him reason to.”

I think of Tim and Sid, their humps bobbing as they scurry down the driveway after rooting through bones and rotten, smelly meat packaging, and I cringe. “You know they carry diseases, right?”

Jonah gives the raccoon one last pat before standing tall again. The raccoon scampers away. “Bandit’s fine.”

“You named him.”

“Yeah. You know, because of the black mask around—”

“I get it,” I interrupt. “Super original.” But also, fitting. “He stole my sandwich.”

Jonah shrugs. “Don’t leave your sandwich lying around where he can steal it, then.”

“I didn’t leave it lying around. It was on a plate, on a table, inside here. He came in here. And he made me spill my drink all over myself.” I throw a hand at my jeans, covered in thick green liquid. My socks are soaked through.

Jonah’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Don’t be so clumsy next time.”