Raccoons.

Make a sandwich or so, stow it far back in the Havahart and wait.

Quillow never saw the first of the three I trapped, set up a huge ruckus with No. 2 (who sounded VERY nasty in reply) and then, by number three, both dogs accepted the caged visitor as just another “normal” event around the house. Believe me, one never knows . . . .

I was assured the three were youngsters, born the year before. In that case, I must now be dealing with the matriarch – or is it the patriarch? It looks no larger – and is certainly tame enough to climb onto the deck when I sit just inside at night. But it certainly is a lot brighter. Sad to say, I’ve been outwitted night after night.

I appreciate (if not like) its abilities. I’ve kept the pawprints as clear as day against the glass where it climbed up one night to get the nectar in the hummingbird feeder. OK, agreed, it was my fault for leaving a chair right there but it only took once. I won’t be fooled again. No second try for that beast.

I suspect I also underestimated its strength for I glance at the photograph of a suet feed twisted almost flat as the contents were emptied.

Suddenly a different thought enters my mind as I stare at that picture. I couldn’t bend it. Unless a very fat man sat on it, I’m not even certain a strong man could do as much damage as was done. Am I blaming the wrong animal for that? Might the bear have returned?

But no. I’ve seen the raccoon. It’s hardly shy – simply far more nocturnal than I.

With hands almost as nimble as a monkey’s, they can easily open a garbage can or turn a door knob. (Oh, great! What next?) And they can weigh up to forty-eight pounds (not something I’d like to run into by accident).

So just come, beastie – yes, please do – to the lovely Havahart waiting with such delicious treats right there in the back.

It knows. Trap still gaping open next morning but all the snacks have disappeared.

Could it really have reached that far into the cage’s back? They’d have fallen out were the cage lifted but I saw no sign it had been moved. Two then? One to lift (and perhaps shake) while the other snatched the goodies? Is it even possible?

Refusing to be hoodwinked that easily again, I made more of my special raccoon-y epicurean delights: Ritz crackers with peanut butter and grape jelly. (The crackers had been used to entice gulls many years ago – actually they were marked to expire in December of 1993 – and only the orioles like the jelly.) These were then placed in a suet cage and put in the trap.

It was empty in the morning.

Now it became a stubborn matter of wiring the suet cage in the middle (right, left, up and down). I then sprinkled the cage with mini-marshmallows which I was assured were an extra delicacy for these animals.

I won! There, next morning, sat one very VERY angry raccoon.

Things have quieted down since its departure. On, no – I’m not raccoon-free. Not by a long shot. But the census seems under control and we seem to be getting along together.

The bird feeder hangs high and has been undisturbed for enough nights that I dare leave it out, saving myself the nuisance of a late-night trek to bring it into the garage. The suet seems safe and the jays make certain their peanut cage is empty.

Minor knows one stalks occasionally before our bedtime but I presume it’s merely a curious visitor, one who quickly continues on to bother a neighbor or two.

Peace has returned. The cage lies in the yard, ready to be used if I must. Pretty soon I’ll move it back upstairs to the attic.

I wonder if I’ll be fooled yet again.

Susan Crossett has lived outside Cassadaga for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. Her Reason for Being was published in 2008 with Love in Three Acts following in 2014. Both are now available at Lakewood’s Off the Beaten Path bookstore. Information on all the Musings, her books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.