Well, good morning! I'm always one of the first ones to get to the Down South Cafe. I've been an early riser all my life. In fact, I was one of the first ones to get to the cafe when it was Lou's Joint too, but it wasn't as pleasant then.
Lou Lou...well, goodness gracious, she could be an ornery thing...rest her soul. I don't like to speak ill of the dead. But I'm not one of those people who act like they thought the world of somebody just because they died either. If I don't like you when you're living, I'm not going to change my opinion of you when you're dead.
Anyway, I come in first thing every morning and order breakfast. And with my breakfast, I get an extra biscuit for my little friend the raccoon. This raccoon comes down out of the woods every evening about sunset and waits on my back porch for his biscuit. If, for some reason, I don't have a biscuit to give him that day, he'll take a shortbread cookie or one of those vanilla creme cookies, but he doesn't like those as well as he does his biscuit. You can see the disappointment on his little masked face. He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, I reckon.
I've always liked animals, but I never wanted any pets. I didn't want to have to take care of anything other than myself, especially after my husband died. But, wouldn't you know it? Now I'm stuck feeding a raccoon every day. And if he's late, I worry about him because he's usually like clockwork. I look forward to his visits now, and sometimes I'll even talk to him.
So, do you think I'm a crazy old lady? If you were in my shoes, would you feed the little beggar? Or would you call animal control?