I was going to entitle this "post-coit*l", and then I thought of all the web-traffic that this might bring to a picture of our deck. You'd have clicked on it to read, though, wouldn't you ...?
4.30 a.m., and I was woken by some heavy thumping. Where? On the roof? On the deck? Was it the graffiti-ists, returned, and this time with a battering ram? LucyFur was, however, sitting on the cat palace, staring in fascination or horror: if it had been humans, she'd have hidden a long time back. So I went to look, and there - yes, of course - in a huge ball of grey fur, with protruding stipey tails, was some very pleasurable raccoon sex. At least, I imagine it was pleasurable on both sides, given the little squeaks and squeals. And then it sounded as though it got even more exciting, and then they tumbled down the spiral staircase together, presumably to have a reviving snack of oranges. No, I didn't take a photograph at the time: it felt very intrusive (I regret that now, of course, but I think my sustained exposure over the last couple of weeks to Weegee's very soft porn of his Los Angeles years has turned me into the kind of person who likes to photograph bare deck boards).
What I didn't realize was that it was raining softly, and that all over the deck the frisky couple had left lots and lots of muddy raccoon paw marks.
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