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Raccoon Mum

by Dee Walmsley

Rocky, the Raccoon


Nothing is cuddlier than a fluffy raccoon kit, its belly bulging with warm milk. I pat its tiny back while the kit buries its blunt nose deep into my neck folds tickling my senses. The cool snout roots about in search of more food. Finding none, the kit suckles my aging neck leaving me with a raccoon hickey.

A yawn escapes the toothless pink mouth and with it, the long awaited burp.
Black button eyes stare off in space as the contented critter flirts with sleep. The tiny brown body slips down my chest as the kit stretches and our heartbeats join. The baby sleeps, content and unconcerned.


I continue to stroke its back. Unlike a rabbit or kitten, the fur is coarse, the textures more like that of a schnauzer puppy. Their petite human-like hands are much more sensitive than mine, and are constantly in motion, their nerve endings transmitting shapes and textures to memory. But for now, these hands with their needle sharp nails and versatile fingers rest on my bosom, at peace.


I fell in love the first time I held a baby raccoon. Now, inhaling the kits sweet musky scent reminds me how deeply privileged I am to be part of its world, if only for a short while.

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