Weekah Tegalega

I still see it. At first I thought it was a big cat, but as soon as we turn into the intersection the headlight beams hit it full on and it is immediately apparent what it is.

"A raccoon. Why is it just sitting in the road?" I say.

"I've never seen a live raccoon before," my daughter says from the back seat, straining against her seatbelt to see.

It just sat there, looking right at us. Was that blood on its fur, or is it just wet from being outside?

I don't move the car. No one is behind me, but cars are approaching from both directions on the street it's sitting on. We stare at it silently. After half a minute it stands up and very slowly walks down the street, still in the middle of the lane. Cars are swerving around it to avoid hitting it.

"I can't tell if it's injured or not. It's not acting normal though. Maybe I should call someone. It's walking now, so maybe it's okay. If I call someone and it's injured they'll probably just put it out of it's misery."

I pull into the intersection now that the path is clear and make my turn and head down the road. The raccoon is no longer in sight.

"Or they could fix it," she says, worry in her voice.

What am I doing? I go around the block and head back towards the house. "I'll call someone." Sobs come from the backseat.

When I get back to the intersection there is no sign of it. When we get home I look up the county Animal Control number and leave a message stating my concern that the animal is injured or has rabies or something. We go back out and forget about it.

Later, my daughter is trying to sleep, but in her stillness she is hit by the events of the day. My wife and I don't say a thing when she quietly climbs into the bed and squeezes between us.