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I sat on the top step, watching as they bounded up the steps past me. My yard was lit up almost entirely thanks to the kitchen light that poured out over the area. Combined with the porch light, it meant I could see almost every inch of my space.
I smiled at the sight of the raccoons grabbing sandwiches and eating them like humans. Their little black fingers clenched their squares tightly as they nibbled away.
Betty eyed me as she took two sandwiches.
I knew what that meant. She ate more when she had baby buns in the oven. That meant I’d be feeding them for another few years yet.
“Oh, Betty, you really need to have a word with Boris, do you know that? He’s a randy little bastard, isn’t he?”
She said nothing. Obviously. I wasn’t a witch and animals couldn’t talk.
I’m sure she’d tell me to shut up and make her another sandwich if she could.
I sighed, but it was a happy one. “I had a date tonight. With Preston. You know, Reagan’s brother? The guy you’ve heard me muttering about for months? Yeah. He kissed me, and we went out. It was weird.”
No weirder than me talking to wild animals like Cinder-freakin’-ella, but I never claimed to be normal.
“A good weird, though. It was fun. We laughed, and I think we both had a really good time. He named the goldfish I won him Uranus, and that gave way to my slightly awkward sense of humor.”
Or weird sensibilities, like talking to raccoons.
At least I owned it.
“He makes me feel like I’m thirteen again. It’s so strange. I was so nervous before, and Reagan was on my ass about my self-confidence before it. She’s right; I need to do better. I just get so nervous, you know?”
Rufus paused mid-square.
“I always think I’ll mess it up. Plus we’re totally different people. I don’t know how it’ll ever work between us. He’s better with someone more like him, isn’t he? I don’t even know anymore, y’all. We get together like we did tonight, like we never have, and I was my usual sarcastic self. There was no sign of my lacking confidence.”
I shook my head.
Maybe showing him how I unloaded my problems on wildlife like they were my own personal therapy team would make him realize how crazy I was.
Then again, if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t need a therapy team.
God knew I wasn’t going to pay a hundred dollars an hour for one.
I sighed, leaning back against the fence post. “Maybe I do need to work on my confidence like Reagan said. Despite my inability in the kitchen, I’m not that bad, am I? I’m funny and smart, and I care about you little trash pandas.”
Betty side-eyed me.
“Oh. No. Don’t look at me like that, Betty. I’m not here for your motherly rants, okay? I just want to talk out my feelings. Y’all won’t charge me for this session because you already got your sandwiches.”
She chittered. It was a high-pitched noise that sounded like endless squeaks.
“Betty! Calm your tits.”
She carried on, throwing her sandwich for good effect.
“What, you didn’t like that one?”
More chittering.
“Do you want me to shut up?”
Even more chittering.
It was going through me now, like nails on a chalkboard. It was over and over, almost panicked, and I rushed over to her.
“Are you hurt?” I reached for her, and she let me. I knew none of these held diseases because I’d had them vaccinated against rabies as soon as it’d become obvious they weren’t going to leave me alone.
She trusted me because I was able to run my hands over her body and that of both her babies without any of them attacking me.
Yes. I was literally their mother at this point.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Betty.” I stood and wiped my hands together. “I need to wash my hands. Stop that damn noise, would you?”
I walked into the kitchen and, with a few healthy squirts of antibacterial soap, I scrubbed my hands clean.
Turning, I went to the oven to grab the towel that hung over the handle, and I saw it.
Boris.
Boris was in my house, and he was humping my newly acquired stuffed raccoon that was somehow on my kitchen floor.
He was going like hell. Impressively fast, actually. His little ass moved frantically, and his tail flapped like a flag in a hurricane. Little squeaky grunts accompanied his one-man party, and I wrinkled my face up in disgust.
I grabbed my phone from the counter and snapped a five-second video. I sent it to Preston.
ME: Well, that’s ruined.
I put the phone back down and clapped my hands loudly. “Boris! That’s enough!”
He ignored me, continuing on his little sex show with my poor toy.
“Boris!” I grabbed the broom from the utility room just off the kitchen and used it to shove him toward the back door.
