“What are you working on?” She asked me.
I told her that I couldn’t tell her, that I didn’t trust her. Because I didn’t. She wore a mischievous look on her face. It was the racoon in her. That’s her spirit animal. Raccoons are hieroglyphs of mischief. They are easily identified by the black markings painted on the fur of their faces. The black markings of the raccoon resemble the masks which cartooned burglars don before a robbery. It is strange to think that God would mark these trash rifling miscreants in a way so accurately personifying their personalities.
The raccoon has existed since before man’s knowledge of the effectiveness of burglar masks. It has certainly existed since before the concept of the cartooned burglar. It may be appropriate to say that God fashioned these creatures with these personifying masks knowing time not as a linear progression but as a canvas whereupon his creativity is witty enough to make natural jokes for the witnessing consciousness of humans.
The mask marked her out to my soul. It told me to keep my guard up during our small talk. People are not apt to trust raccoons upon initially being introduced to them. It takes time, bonding, and a few silent nights of not having your garbage cans raided before a man can begin giving up his confidences to the little trouble makers.