A few nights ago, we were up late. It was a weeknight and the time got away from us. When we realized that we should have been in bed an hour ago, I scrambled around the apartment trying to turn the lights off and put everything away. I was in the kitchen, with the only light on, putting plastic wrap over the black bean brownies I had just made for church. I was in a state of undress, shall we say, that would be inappropriate outside of the security of my own home.
As I’m in the kitchen, suddenly I hear something at the door. We have wooden stairs up to our apartment door, so it’s always very obvious when someone is coming up the door or standing on the porch because it’s very loud. Something was definitely at the door. I heard scratching. It sounded like someone was trying to turn the doorknob or put something into the keyhole. Then there was pounding, like someone was shoving their shoulder into the door.
Needless to say, I freak out and run into the bedroom. Leaping onto the bed, in mid-air I say, “Something is at the door!” Charlie responds with, “What!” and responds in kind by leaping out of bed and flying across the apartment to listen at the door.
He’s listening, trying to figure out what’s going on. In times past he’s had someone just walk into his apartment, not realizing they were in the wrong place, so he thought that might be what was going on again. I, on the other hand, was leaning more towards someone trying to break into our apartment and kill us. As a result, I’m trying to find pants to put on so I can run away from this intruder if I have to. I can’t find pants. It’s dark, there’s a pile of clothes by my bed, and I can’t find pants. All I can find is Charlie’s white undershirt. It’ll have to do. I put my legs through the arm holes and pull it on.
At this point Charlie has moved into the front bedroom to try to look through the window to see if he can see what is at the door. I join him and he says, “I think it’s an animal.” Then I see the dark figure on the porch. It is an animal.
Is it a cat? Is it a raccoon? Charlie thinks it’s a raccoon. Oh, it’s definitely a raccoon.
The raccoon was ramming himself into the door, trying to climb up the door, sliding down the door, and otherwise trying to get inside. Charlie opened the door a crack, and the raccoon just looked up at him. “Yes, can I help you?”
Then it ran away.
And we were safe. Safe from intruding raccoons who try to break into our apartment and kill us. And there we were, hearts pounding, me wearing Charlie’s undershirt as pants.
Really, it’s strangely reminiscent of this story, which also reminds me of the time I got locked inside my bedroom because my doorknob fell off. The reference to boys in that story was actually to Josh and Charlie. Charlie was exceedingly helpful and suggested that he hoped I liked pancakes – because that’s all they’d be able to feed me through the crack under my door.
Thanks a lot, future husband.