Author: Joseph Carrabis

Hecate having a late lunch can mean only one thing

The joys of parenthood. Even when it’s expecting parenthood. Expecting^10 parenthood.

Regular readers know we’ve been working with raccoons almost ten years at this point. This first mention in this blog is Raccoon Mother Hecate back in 2017 in Heckie, Sheldon, Veronica, Porgy and Bess (the second post I published, in fact. That’s their importance in our lives).

Some eight months later Hecate introduced us to her second generation kits documented in We Got Kitted!

Our first encounter with Raccoon was Rockalina.

 
The above image is dated 6 June 2010. Rockalina aka Rocky came out from our pines foraging midday. Strange behavior. I worked on a porch back then and, seeing her, talked to her. She stop and look at me for a moment then continued foraging. A week or so of talking and I noticed she’d come and look for me. I got off the porch and approached her, always talking. She came up and sniffed me. I brought out some old cookies we weren’t going to eat. She cautiously took one. I put peanut butter on crackers. Big hit. I made peanut butter sandwiches. Bigger hit. We had tiny dog bones. She loved them.

She would come by at 3-4pmET every day and stand up until I noticed her, talked, and she’d come forward to get her treats.

We thought it odd.

Then one night our back light came on. There was Rocky with five kits, all standing up waiting for me to come out.

She was such a tender soul. I miss her greatly.

She also brought her sisters and aunts and daughters, who brought their kits. One year we had 19 raccoons in the backyard, most of them taking food from my hands.

It was glorious.

And it all started with one raccoon coming by in the afternoon.

Just like Hecate is doing now.

Must mean we’ll be seeing kits soon.

We can’t wait.


What’s a “Flaknoc”? (revealing tech through characters)

Readers learn about your story’s tech by character action and reaction

I took part in a writers’ discussion a few nights back. The question “How do you describe future tech in your story so your reader understands what it is?”

I said, “You don’t. Your characters do.”

Huh?

Was this the economy Flaknoc? Hell, no!
Wait. What’s a “Flaknoc”?

 
So here’s an example:
Kia paced back and forth on the roof, hands across her chest, fingers tapping against her arms, waiting for Rory’s Flaknoc to appear. She considered sitting on one of the reinforcement pylons – they were such a pretty warning yellow, and strong because Rory insisted they get a luxury, six-seater Flaknoc with the dual humalifts, not a two-seater, single humalift economy model, oh no, not Rory – but moving gave her a chance to practice her outrage. She raised a hand to her brow at the end of each circuit, blocking the setting, midland’s sun, and each time debated getting a thermosuit; the air carried that early evening chill so prevalent since the third evacuation.
Ah. She heard the distinctive Rummm of Rory’s Flaknoc. A moment later the air bubbled and Rory’s Flaknoc grew in the bubble’s center. Rory waved. Kia tapped her watch and glared at him.
He hovered. She didn’t move. He motioned her back. She took a step. He glared back at her, motioning her back again, the movement quick, hostile.
She moved just outside the blue landing circle and waited for him to reploy the Flaknoc’s shield. He jumped out, hurrying past her as she followed, one step behind, matching his gait, a harpy taking irritating nibbles when his back was turned. “Your skin has that nice pink tinge it gets when you break all the containment rules. Racing back again? I told you this Flaknoc’s shields weren’t safe. How many times — “
He spun on her, his hands raised in frustration. “I have no idea how many times. I’ve lost count.” He threw the energizing-stick at her feet. “Here, take it back. Take it back, get our money, buy something nice and shut up.”

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Orianthe and Macon dine while Orville lurks in the background

How are your peanuts, my darling?

Following up on last week’s table feature, this week we delve into interbeastial relationships ala Orianthe and Macon, Opossum and Raccoon, enjoying each other’s company, exchanging recipes, planning an evening of romance once they’ve had their last cappuccino and gelato.

But wait, who’s that hovering in the background? Is it…can it be… Yes, it’s Orville, donning the guise of waiter when really he’s here keeping an eye on Orianthe, his daughter, lost to the…paws…of…

Oh, heavens! A raccoon!

I mean, of all things…a raccoon.

My God!

Oh, the shame. Oh, the Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner of it.

Fortunately, prejudices and ignorance don’t abound with the Old Ones. Peace is the rule – truly, even between predator and prey. Disagree? You’ve never witnessed the selection process in full – and interbeastial relationships abound.

My prayer for humankind, that. That interbeastial relationships might abound and we, as one species among many, might prosper.