A raccoon was the next pet I got after my cherished shark Bruno passed away. My mother gave me the raccoon for my birthday. I looked at the cute little baby raccoon and immediately thought of a name for him; Mr. Tiggles. Mr. Tiggles and I had so much fun together when he was still a young raccoon. But when he got older he became more secluded from me. He would isolate himself in the bathroom, and when I came in to use the porcelain throne, Mr. Tiggles would hiss wildly at me. Then at night when I would lie down to get a good night's rest, he would jump onto my bed and start thrashing like he had rabies. He basically kicked me off the bed and claimed it for himself.
Finally I got fed up with Mr. Tiggles. I went to Wal-Mart and bought myself as Blowgun with some Tranquilizer darts. As I crept back into my house, I saw Mr. Tiggles ripping open a cereal box in my kitchen. I fired a dart from my blowgun, but missed the raccoon by a few inches. He looked up at me and hissed, but it was too late for him. A second dart stuck out of his neck, for I was just to quick for Mr. Tiggles. The raccoon then found a new home at my mother-in-law's house, where he continues to wreck havoc.
Now what is the moral of this story? Pet sharks are way cooler than raccoons.
