It was a dark and stormy night and I sat typing. Alone in my dark basement. My husband and protector was out of town slaying dragons and making an income to support my addictions: eating, sleeping in a bed and using inside bathroom facilities.
There was a rustling outside. Something was alive out there just feet from the door near my kitchen-table-turned-desk.
I’m a brave sort, some of the time; but I still haven’t gotten over my dread of the night after watching, “I Am Legend.”
(You want to be entertained: watch it. You want to be freaked out: watch it. You want never to be left in a parking garage by yourself again: watch it.)
But, back to my story, I rose from my chair and went to the door. Fortunately there is a window on the door which would enable me to see if the noise was caused by a Darkseeker, the neighbor’s Shih Tzu or something more horrifying.
It was a raccoon. I would recognize him anywhere. Grayish, a black mask around his eyes and a look of innocence (or was it guilt) as he gazed at me from his perch next to the almost-empty bird feeder. And then he was gone, back to the slip of woods behind the house. Back to alert the other nocturnal animals that the Kings had bird seed for the taking.
I’ve seen him several times since then; and I’ve seen his handiwork. As the growing season progressed his menu expanded. He loved the peaches and would take a bit of this one and a bite of that one and leave the rest for us. We foiled his plans and stripped the tree bare.
Now the plums must be ripe because he picks them and spitefully brings them up to the deck where he eats them: spits out the skin and leaves the pits behind. Must I strip the plum tree too?
Why doesn’t he eat the pears? Please.
My only recourse is to name him. I sent out a plea to the world’s etymologians who suggested the following names: Rocky, Bandit, Rumbleroar, Reliv, Rikki, Roger, Broc (after the vegetable, I think).
Then I took a poll of which was the best and Bandit came in first with Rumbleroar a close second.
Thank you friends for helping me out of this dilemma. Bandit it is, or as they say in Mexico: Ratero.

Addendum: I got this late vote and wise counsel from Brenda:
“I like Rumbleroar but vote for Roger. It sounds it could be one of your kids. You could stand outside your door and yell for Roger and the neighbors will think you are calling one of the boys.”