Many years ago, Ted and I woke up to the sound of footsteps. It was incredibly disconcerting: the tread was heavy and even, and it sounded just like a full-grown man was walking on our roof. Ted grabbed our officially-licensed Shawn of the Dead cricket bat and I grabbed a flashlight, and we tried to figure out if someone was breaking into our house. We couldn’t find anything, so we went to check the attic. I’ll tell you… opening up your pitch black attic in the middle of a pitch black night armed with only a cricket bat and a Maglite is some serious horror movie shit. Few things test your mettle like realizing you’re absolutely /not/ the Final Girl in a slasher film because you’re creeping in an attic at midnight while investigating strange sounds. Anyway, the thuds and thumps kept happening, and eventually we figured out that raccoons were humping on our roof.
Every year since, raccoons have consistently found the atmosphere on our roof conducive to romance.
Now, I’ve been trying and trying to write something profound and poetic to describe this scent, but this really is a perfume about raccoons schtupping. For the bulk of the US, February is the harbinger of Raccoon Sexytime, and for the next month my whole family will get woken up by the thumps and squeals of frantically lusty raccoons using our roof as a No Tell Motel.
The accompanying perfume can be found here
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