“Why do you think he’s here?” Kathy asked, eyes half shut as she stared at the raccoon.
“I don’t know honey, the compost heap I suppose,” Steve answered, distracted by the 6 o’clock news.
“It’s not normal. I don’t like it.” Kathy’s eyes narrowed even more, her lips pursing.
Steve grunted in acknowledgement, he had learned through 9 years of marriage that when Kathy starts on something, best let her finish without too much protest. His subconscious registered the sound of the screen door slamming.
An hour later Steve let out a sigh as he turned off the TV. “I tell you what, Kathy… Kathy?”
“Kathy?” She wasn’t in the kitchen; the bedroom; upstairs. He opened the door to the backyard, and could hear muffled sounds coming from the woods behind the garden, the same area as the compost heap. The raccoon was gone, now.
“Kathy, stop joking around,” exasperated, Steve went back inside to get a beer. Falling half asleep in his recliner he noted the sounds stopping, at last.
“I’m so lucky to have married such a funny woman,” Steve thought, a grin overtaking his lips.
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