"Why?" you ask. Because: it's fifty weeks until the next Silly Season returns, that's why.
And I got today off to a roaring start a lot sooner than I planned, because something in the neighbourhood set off a nearby car alarm at about 3:30 AM, and then two houses across the street turned on their lights, and people with rainwear over their PJs began prowling the yards with flashlights, looking for whatever caused all that. If it had been a burglar, they might have wished for more than a flashlight, but it was most likely one of our friendly local raccoons, out looking for snacks. They even sometimes wander into our underground garage, because at least once I've discovered raccoon tracks across the hood of my car from the right front to the left side as it was checked over. Those little guys don't miss much.
Where I lived before retiring, a family of local raccoons came every evening for supper, and I kept an old dishpan of clean water in the back yard for them to wash up in. They loved three-flavour dry catfood, and fresh bread, and the young ones would eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches right out of my hand. Giving them a marshmallow or two was always good for a smile, from all the faces they made as they tried to chew it. Sometimes, I'd put a few fresh eggs in their water dish, and they loved fishing those out and eating them. They also enjoyed sitting on a bench outside the living room patio doors, and watching TV through the doorway. People who say raccoons and house cats don't get along are wrong. I've often seen them sharing a dish of food in the yard, with a raccoon on one side of the dish, and a neighbour's cat on the other. So you can't believe urban legends.
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