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Raccoons Make Shitty Pets

Warning: Contains bestiality with a non-talking feral, and heavy, HEAVY watersports and scat play.

Wild animals make shitty pets, especially raccoons. At least, that’s what I was told when I found the skinny, abandoned cub in my yard one night, trying to turn on the hose faucet with her paws so she could get a drink. She was still hanging around there the next day, and the next.

My first thought after I fed her and she tried to follow me into the house was to call animal control, or a wildlife rescue. But when instead of getting in the cage I baited with a piece of chicken, the cub crawled into my lap and clung to my shirt, my heart melted.

I wasn’t just some idiot who tried to keep an animal in his house. I did all my research, including making sure it was legal in my state and seeking advice from the local rescue.

Even when I told them I’d volunteered at a zoo in college, and had a good idea of what I was getting into, they weren’t exactly enthusiastic. They warned me that raccoons were dirty, aggressive, and destructive. But after I reassured them that I’d call them if I felt I was in over my head, they reluctantly gave their sort-of-blessing.

I ran to the hardware store to get supplies to build the cub an appropriate outdoor enclosure. I got her tested for diseases, and made sure she had every vaccine that was available for raccoons. I was mentally and emotionally prepared to have an animal that hated me, that bit me, that trashed the house and pissed and shit everywhere, and that I couldn’t get too attached to because I’d have to teach her to live on her own and not rely on humans.

But as it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Rebel, as I soon named her, is anything but. Sure she chews things sometimes, and moves them and hides them places, but I don’t think she’s ever permanently stolen anything really valuable, and after a while it became a game to her to put things either in locations in plain sight without me noticing them or in hiding places where I’d look without even trying to. She doesn’t like other people very much, but she’s a complete cuddlebug with me. Within a week she was litterbox trained, and... well, I tried to teach her to hunt without me, but it was soon clear there was no chance of releasing her into the wild. When she was supposed to hit raccoon puberty and decide she hated her adoptive parent, she... slept in her enclosure connected to the house for about a month. Then a big thunderstorm hit, and she spent the night pressed against my chest and has hardly slept anywhere but my bedroom since.

Rebel does have a mischievous streak, though, and despite being frighteningly smart – she learned to open the latches I put on the fridge and trash can, then learned to steal the keys for the locks, then memorized padlock combinations from watching me open them – she's a silly animal sometimes. Or perhaps too smart for her own good. That’s certainly how I’d describe the incident a couple weeks ago that changed our relationship forever.

I had Rebel out in the yard for supervised playtime, and she surprised me yet again by somehow twisting around in her harness so she could reach the latch for her leash when I took my eyes off her for a second. She retreated to the top of the garage, and after failing to coax her down with just words I ran inside to get some hamburger as an extra incentive. I tried to open the back door again, only to find a sturdy branch wedged between it and the deck, and by the time I was out the front door, I found my compost bin tipped over and my raccoon stuffing her face with kitchen scraps.

Nothing in there was poisonous as far as I knew, but it was days-old and a bit rotten, and I was worried she’d make herself sick like she had when she’d opened the trash can lock. I was relieved when a day later she was completely fine, and her appetite was as big as ever.

Call me dense, but it took me three days to notice that Rebel hadn’t pooped since then. She’d eventually learned to use the toilet, and flush it too, so there wasn’t any evidence besides her stomach starting to swell up. After encouragement failed to produce any results, I took her straight to the vet as soon as I could – day five. An x-ray revealed there was nothing actually blocking her gut though, and he said to try laxatives first to try and loosen her bowels.

Another day went by with no results. Rebel’s bloated stomach kept gurgling, and she waddled around the house – she isn’t a fat raccoon either, despite how much she eats – uncomfortably, but her appetite was still unaffected. I tried again, and on the seventh night I gave her a double dose, the maximum recommended for her size. I’d bought an enema kit, figuring if the laxatives failed I’d try to get rid of the blockage with water, and if even that failed I’d have to take her back to the vet.

Rebel slept in my bed that night, although not cuddled up with me. She kept groaning and wincing as her stomach rumbled, but eventually we both fell asleep.

Then, at about 3:00 AM, I was awoken by a sad whimpering sound. I was up immediately. Was she in serious pain now? I pulled the blanket off Rebel. She was huddled on her side, whimpering, with her tail between her legs. She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. I was ready to throw on my clothes and rush her to the hospital, but then I noticed the smell.

“Rebel? Are you okay, sweetie?” I asked. She shook her head and pointed a paw down. I gently lifted her tail out of the way. Chocolate-brown liquid was trickling from her anus, and had run down her thigh and made a softball-sized stain on the mattress.

“Shit,” I swore. Rebel winced and flattened her ears. “No, no, no, it’s okay girl. It’s not your fault you had an accident!” I picked her up by the shoulders and rushed her into the bathroom. I tried to set her on the toilet, but she let out a squeal of protest and her feet slid all over the place. Normally she could keep her balance, but if it hurt this much she’d fall in. She was too heavy to hold over the bowl for too long.

At first I was going to just set her in the tub, but then I had an idea. I ran to the closet and grabbed a big metal bowl with a handle. I normally used it instead of a trash can if I was the one sick, but it would work for her too. A low stool I had was just the right height for her to lie on her side with her butt over it.

“Okay, Rebel? This is important. Is it still stuck, or do you think you can poop?” I asked, ready to get the enema bag ready – no, at this point maybe a spoon would be better. The miserable raccoon responded with a nod.

“Does that nod mean it’s still stuck?”

She shook her head.

“Okay.” I placed her on the stool. Her pucker quivered and spasmed, and more liquid leaked out. I held her shoulders up, cradling her so even if there was squirting it would go into the chamber pot. “There you go. Just let it all out.”

I expected Rebel’s face to tighten with the effort of pushing, but instead, she relaxed. Jesus... she’d been trying to hold it in? Curious whether she’d eaten something that didn’t show up on the x-ray, I watched. More fluid dribbled out of her pucker as it expanded, until I was worried that it would start to bleed or tear. Then, to my relief and certainly to hers, a log of cracked, solid feces almost two inches around started to slide out. It bent sideways and drooped into the bowl, getting softer and a bit narrower as it went, until it hit the bottom and crumpled. There was no liquid now, but her stomach was gurgling, and there were crackling noises as it coiled up in the metal basin.

“Jesus, Rebel, is that what’s been backing you up?” I pet the poor raccoon’s head sympathetically. The enormous log finally tore free and slumped against the side of the bowl, almost reaching the top. It was a lot of shit even by human standards. But Rebel’s tortured sphincter opened up again, and softer turds started to come out, accompanied by soft, hissing farts that made the bathroom smell like a gas leak. She let out a sad moan and buried her face in her front paws. I knew she was embarrassed. She hissed at me if I ever accidentally walked in on her doing her business.

A flood of golden raccoon piss sprayed out of Rebel’s vulva, and she let out a sigh of relief. I wondered if at the end the huge amount of shit had been pressing on her urethra, keeping her from peeing. There was a pool of it, enough to submerge a decent part of the first coil of shit, and the pressure eroded the pile enough to turn the liquid golden-brown. And she was still pooping. It was pretty much a continuous ribbon of dark brown filth now, only broken by wet, spluttering farts that flecked the entire inside of the makeshift chamber pot. She paused for a bit, then squeezed out even more, the consistency of soft-serv ice cream (which I may never eat again). Despite my trying to angle her butt, it still slid down her cheek.

Finally, after what felt like hours of defecation, Rebel’s shit-smeared asshole finally closed. She let out a sigh of relief. I let her back down onto her side, staring astounded at the contents of the bowl. She’d filled it almost halfway, and it was hardly a small container. She’d taken the biggest dump of her life, and it probably beat the next two combined.

“Good girl...” I took the improvised chamber pot away. I wasn’t looking forward to emptying that into the toilet; backsplash was a real risk if all the shit came unstuck at once. Hell, I was afraid that load would clog the toilet. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

Rebel shook her head miserably. Her ass was caked with feces, and drops of urine had rebounded and wet her fur. I got out a box of wet wipes and cleaned her up as best I could, but she was still miserable. I decided being emotionally there for the poor thing was more important than cleaning up at the moment. I wasn’t going to go back to bed with her until I’d washed her with soap and water, but it was best to let her recover a little first.

I took off my pajamas and got into the bathtub with her, lying on my back and putting her on my lap. I didn’t want any more laundry besides my sheets, but she was mostly clean, enough that if I was going to be showering too, it wasn’t that bad. Rebel snuggled up against me, I gently, rhythmically stroked her head and back. Her breathing slowed, and her eyelids drifted shut.

But then, just as I thought Rebel would finally go to sleep, her stomach let out the loudest gurgle yet. She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and her ears flattening in a look of abject horror. She winced and let out a squeak of pain, her lower half shuddering. Another cramp, and there was a loud crackling sound. I felt something warm and wet against my stomach. For a moment I was too shocked to even speak or move. There was a horrific-sounding sloppy fart and I felt the wetness spread out. The smell of raccoon feces got worse.

“Oh, fuck... goddamnit...” I started to get up, but seeing poor Rebel with her face screwed up in pain and her claws digging into her thighs, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The damage was already done. And Rebel was religious about using the litterbox and the toilet. If the affectionate little raccoon had not just shit herself, but shit on me, I knew it had to have been truly beyond her control, and the look on her pathetic face confirmed it. I’m so sorry, her eyes seemed to say.

“Rebel, it’s okay. I know it was an accid-” SPLURBURGGLURBLLLGGLLLE! My voice was drowned out by an explosion. Rebel shut her eyes and started to cry again as a thick, soupy puddle of liquid shit spread out across my stomach. Another cramp and her bowels pushed out so much that it overflowed off my sides as twin waterfalls of diarrhea. My belly was covered in dark green-brown animal waste that smelled like rotting vegetables. It was oozing out onto my chest from between Rebel’s legs, getting her vulva messy too, and I knew her hindquarters had to be completely soiled.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be all right. We’re in the bathtub anyway. I can clean this -” BSSPRPGURRRGGLEBLURT! Another explosive shart blasted out of her. She groaned, clutched at her stomach, and leaned forward, her thighs making a sticky noise at they came free of my body. She pressed her fuzzy forehead against my face and let out another sob. Her stomach rumbled again, and a torrential tsunami of sludge shot out of her. It went everywhere, spraying all over my crotch, my legs, and even the back of the tub with an unholy splattering sound. SPUTT PTT GLLLRRRTTTCHHH! Another wave went straight onto my groin. I gagged at the horrible stench.

“Fucking goddamnit! Okay, you’d better get off -” I sat up, and tried to lift her off of me, putting my hand under her rump without thinking. It was all warm and disgustingly sticky, and as I picked her up her bowels detonated again, spewing a river of runny muck all over my arm, my leg, and the floor of the tub. I set her down, and she slumped onto her side again.

As I suspected, Rebel’s rear end was completely caked with her own waste, but she wasn’t done. She continued to violently shit herself, soft turds and mush and sometimes liquid the consistency of gravy pouring out of her ravaged anus and eventually mounting up into a sloppy pile that totally covered her left thigh.

“Fuck...” I groaned as Rebel tried to crawl away from her mess. “Holy fucking shit, girl...” I stared at the disaster area she’d turned the bathtub into in disbelief. Her belly was about back to its normal size now. She seemed to finally be done, but how had she held this much in her? The poor thing... I almost couldn’t be mad that she’d shit all over me. I was still dripping raccoon diarrhea. My chest, my stomach, my dick and balls, and my right leg were covered in it, as were my right hand and forearm. But Rebel was almost as bad. She’d lain in the mess on the floor, so her whole side was dirty. Her legs were soaked, her vulva and anus were so caked in shit they were barely identifiable, and her fluffy black-and-white ringed tail looked like it had been used as a toilet brush in a Taco Bell bathroom. She got up, and even her paws squelched in it.

“Well... time to clean this up...” I sighed.

Now, what I thought was happening at first at this point is Rebel, the poor innocent sweetheart that she is, thought I meant for her to try to clean it up, and attempted it the only way she knew how. My next thought was that she was trying to punish herself for her accident. She started to try to wipe my thighs off with her dexterous raccoon paws, squeegeeing a bit of it away, but really just making it worse. Then she tried to wipe it off on the parts of her body that weren’t already filthy. But when she rolled on her back and started to rub her own private parts, while still crying, I realized... part of her was enjoying it, but she probably felt even more guilty about that.

In my idiotic, somewhat groggy brain, I had an idea which I’m glad hindsight has confirmed because otherwise it would have been horrible. I decided that the best way to make her feel better was to teach her that it was okay to enjoy it, or if she wasn’t enjoying it teach her a lesson about eating compost. “See? Doesn’t it feel nice getting all that out of you?” I said, patting her head with my clean hand. “It’s okay. As long as it’s in the bathtub so I can clean us off it’s okay to go potty, even if it’s on me!”

Rebel whimpered, but her ears perked up a little.

“I’m okay with being all messy as long as it’s your mess, because I love you. Don’t you like being messy?”

The raccoon hesitated a little. She looked from side to side like she was on a game show and wanted help from the audience. But then she closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and slowly nodded. Her paw reached back into the oozing fecal quagmire covering her privates.

And some horrible part of me realized... I wasn’t totally lying. Not really. The smell wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t that different from being covered in mud while riding my ATV, apart from the warmth that was actually kind of pleasant. I made a fateful choice. I reached towards the end of the tub with the tap, but instead of turning the water on I plugged the drain. Then I started to roll Rebel in the enormous puddle of filth covering the floor. She wasn’t crying anymore. She looked more relaxed, even.

“That’s a good girl,” I said. “Good trash panda.” I picked up a handful of the mushy pile in the tub, and closed my fingers around Rebel’s tail. I slowly pulled my hand along, threading her tail through until her fur was slicked down and instead of black and white rings (well, dark and pale gray) it was solid brown. She watched with awe, then started to run her own forepaws through the remaining mess, and fingerpainted on the walls with a self-satisfied expression. She rolled onto her side again, raising her tail and spreading her legs.

I admit it, I put a finger in her butt. It was bad impulse control, yes, but I’d caught her sticking Sharpies up there in the past. She finally smiled. I wiggled the digit around, then pulled it back out with a wet slurping sound. Rebel grunted, and to my amazement another stream of smooth, sloppy shit spurted out of her bottom.

Once I’d smeared Rebel’s mess over her entire body from the neck down, the sweet raccoon stood up. She padded squelchily over to me, climbed up my thighs... and started to lick between my legs.

“Oh... Rebel, you don’t have to do that...” I said. “I’ll clean that up myself.”

She pulled away, wincing and gagging and sticking her tongue out. I made a mental note: not even the animal who scarfed down several pounds of kitchen scraps liked the taste of her own shit. But she put her sticky, disgusting paws on her cheeks and started to paint her whiskers brown like I’d done her tail.

Then she gagged again, and a worrying amount of mucus came out. I knew she’d gone too far, and unplugged the drain and hurriedly rinsed off my own hands with the shower head, then made sure to get Rebel’s mouth cleaned out. It washed away some of the mess, but most of it was still intact. I re-plugged the drain.

“Rebel? Do you still want to get messier?” I asked. She nodded and belched – she'd drunk quite a bit of the water in the process of rinsing her mouth. “Okay, then.” I reached out of the tub and pulled the still-full bowl over. God, this seemed even grosser. I reached in, working my hands through the raccoon piss and shit until the turds were churned into a single mass of slimy light-brown sludge. She peered over the side, watching with wide eyes and erect ears.

“Do you want this, girl?” I asked. I picked the container up and slowly hovered it over her head as she stood on her hind legs. “Okay, close your eyes and mouth. And don’t get any up your nose.”

When I was sure she’d obeyed my instructions, I tipped the chamber pot over and started to pour its malodorous, sloppy contents out onto her. She stood there calmly, shivering and putting her tail between her legs. With it still half-full I stopped, letting her take uncertain, coughing breaths. The poor thing was barely recognizable. She looked like she’d gone swimming in a sewage treatment pond. She wiped the slurry of her own bodily waste from her eyes and blinked forlornly... but then lay down and started to rub herself again. She licked her lips, then her fingers... and this time she didn’t gag.

Rebel got up and moved to me again, thoroughly bathing my crotch with her tongue. I was at full mast now. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just the physical sensation, it was... this was disgusting, it went against nearly every taboo there was.

The filthy raccoon turned around and squatted. She pushed, and spurts of liquid shit sprayed against the floor. She got down and started to lick up the fresh mess, then lick at her own crotch.

“Are you hungry, sweetie?” I asked, trying not to laugh. She looked me right in the eye and licked her lips again. I brought the chamber pot to her. She stood up and gripped it with her paws, bringing it closer to her mouth and tipping it over. The shape wasn’t meant for pouring of course, so it spilled everywhere, dribbling all down her front and out of her mouth, but still, she was greedily chugging down her own slurry.

With it mostly empty, she pulled back. She shuddered, her ears folding down. She burped, then shut her eyes and burped again, brown liquid coming out her mouth.

“Oh, jesus... don’t upset your stomach, sweetie!” I put the chamber pot down. Rebel fell onto all fours, her stomach convulsing. A tidal wave of liquid nastiness poured out her mouth. She tried to lick it back up again, but with another belch she rolled onto her side, legs spread. Even under the morass already covering it I could see her anus open. A snake of semisolid crap oozed out, then was wet by a squirt of piss. She vomited again, her anus exploded, and she started spewing urine and feces from both ends.

“No more eating, okay girl?” I said when she’d recovered. I unplugged the drain again and gave her another drink to clean her mouth out. Her face was partially cleaned off, but dumping the rest of the chamber pot’s contents on her sorted that out. The raccoon smiled, and groped blindly around, face too covered in her own waste products to see. Her paws found their way to my penis, and she went to work again, not licking but periodically nuzzling. It felt too good to stop her, and before I knew it I’d blown my load all over her. But that was the least disgusting bodily fluid around here.

Rebel stretched, pawed her face ‘clean,’ and turned her back to me again, sticking her ass in the air with her tail – now just a scraggly shit-caked rope – held high. Sputtering bursts of flatulence seeped out of her. She looked at me from between her spread legs, and pushed hard. Crackling ropes of filth oozed out of her dirty hole, then wet but still solid turds, sliding down over her soiled, defiled pussy. More farts came out, and she bent down even further, pressing her chin into the floor. A thin jet of truly liquid shit shot out from underneath her tail, spraying my belly button. Then she relaxed and rolled onto her back again, panting. A few more squirts of diarrhea onto her tail, and her dump was, finally, finished.

“Jesus fucking Christ...” I said. “Those laxatives really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

I was thinking about cleaning up, but Rebel wasn’t done yet. Despite my warnings that I wouldn’t rinse her out again, she picked up one of the larger turds from the new pile, chewed on it, and finally obeyed me by spitting it out. Well, if this was what she wanted... I scooped up the mass in my own hands and mounded it up on her face, then started rolling her around and smearing and working her shit deeper and deeper into her fur, making sure she was truly soiled to the skin.

“Okay...” I yawned. “Let’s get you cleaned up now, and then we’d better get back to...” I trailed off. No, bad idea. Just because her rectum was finally empty didn’t mean she hadn’t had a massive dose of laxatives, and possibly upset her stomach even more by eating her own shit. “Actually, I’d better make sure your insides are all clean first so you don’t shit the bed... again.” Uh oh. Right, she’d soiled the sheets with diarrhea. We’d have to sleep on the couch. And I definitely didn’t want her pooping on the leather, even if she’d already messed it up enough with her claws.

I got the enema bag out. A whole liter. It wasn’t exactly sized for raccoons. But neither was the apocalyptic dump she’d taken. “Let’s stand you up so it gets all the way down there...” I gently took hold of her and propped her upside-down against the tub wall with her rear end sticking up in the air. In this position it was only natural for her legs to spread. I rubbed a bit of the filth away from her nether regions with a bit of water, and stuck the enema nozzle into her butthole. She let out a pleased sigh. Bit by bit, the liquid drained out of the bag. I pulled it out.

“All right girl, hold it in like that. We’ve gotta make sure we get everything out of you.” I looked at the clock on the wall. I figured ten minutes was enough for it to soak in, then I’d let her up. But Rebel’s poor abused asshole only lasted five. She groaned and tried to clench herself, but it was no use. Little spurts of clear water started to spurt out, with her still upside-down. It splashed her, but I figured it was helping clean off her fur, or at least wet the shit that was now beginning to crack and dry.

It was a nice theory, but Rebel soon proved it wrong. The squirts of water turned into a fountain, shooting a good foot in the air and pouring down on her chest and face. She paused to catch her breath, then pushed. The fountain shot out again, but now the water was brown, and rapidly getting darker. Her thighs and face were showered, and she coughed and spluttered, looking totally surprised. I was glad I’d given her the enema, but the poor thing... but she was already covered in her own waste, and she didn’t get down from her position. If she wanted to do it like this I wasn’t going to stop her.

Another spurt of water came out her ass, then the flow stopped, or rather became a gentle trickle. It was still running down her whole body though. She looked alarmed, and tried to clench her legs together again, but in her posture gravity was helping spread them. Her anus bulged out, started to open, and gave way with explosive force. More dirty water propelled a lump of shit high into the air. It bounced off her left paw. Then came another fountain... no, a geyser... no, a mud volcano. A chunky mixture of liquid and mush erupted from her bowels, with one explosion flecking the tub wall brown as high as my head. But what goes up must come down, and her squeak of discomfort was drowned out as she nearly drowned herself. Her enema poured down on her, splattering everywhere, with soft turds landing on her legs, her pussy, her stomach, her chest, and all over her face. Her whiskers were weighed down. There were big lumps of shit on her forehead, on her muzzle, and even in her ears. She coughed again, and rubbed her eyes, then looked up at the source of the disaster and pushed. Another mushy log oozed out, collapsing and mounding up around her anus and pussy.

With one more liquid squirt, Rebel looked up at me expectantly with tear-filled eyes, as if to say: ‘all done!’ But I knew she wasn’t, not after what she’d just done to herself. “Oh no you don’t,” I said. “That didn’t look clean to me. You need another round.”

Another bag of water disappeared into the depths of the raccoon’s ass. Again I made her wait. She managed to hold it all ten minutes this time. “Okay, you can poop,” I said.

With a sigh of relief she pushed out another fountain of liquid, still not getting up. But this time it was dirty even at the start. A few small lumps of shit shot out. I hoped for her sake that the water would turn clean, but it only got worse. A mudslide of soupy, slimy greenish excrement bubbled and gurgled out of her, liquid the consistency of tomato sauce running down her body like a river, down her pussy, her belly, and between her forelegs and spilling off her neck. She spluttered helplessly, but not from her mouth this time. Drowned farts propelled the filth out in an eruption that freshly coated her hindquarters. Then it slowed to a river again, but she leaned forward, letting more mush and soft, oozing turds flow out, running down her crotch and falling straight onto her face.

Rebel’s head was nearly buried in her own excrement now, with only the tip of her muzzle sticking out. I couldn’t see her face, but I could see her perineum flex and her stomach gurgle ominously. I had an awful premonition, and drew the shower curtain just in time. Her butt blorped up more soupy diarrhea onto herself, then produced a spray of watery fluid that spattered against the curtain with such force and such height that I knew the bathroom would have been a writeoff if not for my foresight. As it was I had to shield my eyes as the rebound sprayed all over me. When I looked again the flow was still going, but it was turning clear. A few more chunks of feces got launched out, but the last few spurts were just water.

Still, I had to be sure. I gave her a third enema. The expulsion started out as another geyser of diarrhea that nearly drowned the poor animal, but then turned clear and stayed that way, washing enough of the fluid shit from her face that she could finally rub her eyes and look up at me.

“You’re all done now, Rebel,” I said. “What a good girl.”

But she shook her head and pointed up at her rear end. Urine started to trickle out of her, washing away the thick layer of feces caking her crotch... down onto her face. She continued to spray herself with piss for probably half a minute. That reminded me... I had to go too. No point going to the toilet. I did my own part to try to wash her face off. She opened her mouth in the stream, and beamed up at me as she gargled a mixture of urine and her own fecal slurry.

Rebel finally flopped onto her side, standing up with shaking legs. Now she looked like she was going to cry again as she eyed the devastation she’d caused. I pulled her up onto my lap, petting her comfortingly. She moaned, and lifted her leg, blasting me with more streams of clean enema water.

“So, did you learn your lesson?” I asked the filthy creature. She nodded, and a lump of feces dripped from her muzzle.

“Don’t eat compost,” I said. “I don’t want you to get hurt. But if you want to have more accidents... there’s plenty of those pills left for next time.”

The sweet little raccoon hugged me, and lay down contentedly in her own waste. I smiled, and unplugged the drain for the last time that night, then turned on the water. I knew it would take a long time to get both of us all the way clean, let alone the bathroom, but we could enjoy the shower while it lasted.

Maybe the warnings were right, I reflected as I lathered down the affectionate, but mischievous creature. Raccoons really did make shitty pets. But it was in a good way.