In the wee hours of Monday morning I woke up to the sounds of a furious cat hissing, spitting and pawing at glass. Blearily I rolled out of bed, expecting to see her fighting with the neighbor’s cat through the window (again). But no, instead of a large yellow cat I saw a humongous raccoon, snaking one creepy paw through the slightly open window (with no screen! Because there are few bugs here! But apparently there are other forms of wildlife!) in an attempt to get at my cat. Who, by the way, was puffed up bigger than I have ever seen. Her fur didn’t stand up that much when we brought home a 60-pound dog.

Anyway. “GAH!” I exclaimed (quite eloquently, as is my way) and at a loss for how to deal with it I hissed out the window (because clearly that approach was working so well for the cat). The raccoon looked at me rather disdainfully before it sauntered away. I closed the windows and went into the bathroom and when I came out, the cat was growling again. Before I had the chance to cross the room, I saw a raccoon face slowly rise into view above the window ledge. That little bastard stood on his hind legs, gave me the evil eye, then continued taunting my cat. Thankfully he grew bored after a few minutes and left but OMG! I forgot how creepy the damn things are. GAAAAAAAAAAAAH. Now I keep a flashlight by the bed so that next time I can shine it directly into his beady, hateful little eyeballs. Ugh.

***

As you may or may not be aware, Monday was Labor Day. I feel the need to spell this out for all of my former coworkers, who were forced to show up for work as usual by the state of Texas. MUAHAHAHA, SUCKAS, California recognizes Labor Day as a day to NOT LABOR. Ahem.

ANYHOO, since I was off work and the kids out of school, we were at home. Although I’ve been dragging them all over the city, I was tired (see above re: wee hours raccoon visit) and Misty had requested to eat outside on the porch. The weather was great so I agreed, and come lunchtime I went outside to wipe off the table.

Except I forgot that not only does the patio door have a bolt, the handle locks as well. You’d think I would remember, since just last week I rescued my poor mother who had forgotten the same thing.

Kids, this is what we call foreshadowing.

So after I had the patio table and chairs nice and clean, I went back up the deck stairs and…discovered that I was locked in the backyard. The kids were in the living room playing Wii (and actually giving me a few minutes of peace for the very first time all weekend, I shit you not, thank you for that timing UNIVERSE) and so apparently could not hear me banging and yelling. And banging and banging and yelling some more. They probably heard me in Spain, but did the children whose names were being screamed?

Negatory, my good sir. They did not. So there I am on the porch, getting increasingly more pissed off with each passing second and each pound of my fists on the glass. I had nothing. No phone, no keys, no way of even getting to the front of the house and believe me, I tried. Our backyard is completely closed off from the street which is good, in a way, but not if you lock yourself back there. I was getting desperate (after less than 10 minutes, outside my own home, in glorious weather, mind you, so let us hope I never am shipwrecked or otherwise hopelessly stranded) and even contemplated the possibility of climbing onto the roof and walking over to the front of the house to bang on the front door and then bitch at my children for eventually opening it “Never answer the door without asking me first!” Thankfully I came to my senses and rapidly abandoned that idea. Mostly because I couldn’t find a way onto the roof.

I’d like to say the story has some sort of an epic climax or exciting resolution, but basically I just gave up and stood there outside the glass doors. It was lunchtime after all and I knew eventually one or both of my unobservant children would happen into the kitchen and see me. Sure enough, about ten minutes later Lex came wandering in, saw me out there and immediately looked confused.

“I’m locked out!” I exclaimed through the glass. He came over and fiddled with the door, successfully locking the deadbolt and therefore keeping me outside even more securely. “The handle! The HANDLE!”

“Oh!” he replied and unlocked the handle. Another look of extreme confusion crossed his face when he still couldn’t open the door.

My god, y’all. This kid. He’s as smart as he can be but dude does not possess one iota of common sense. Not ONE. “UNLOCK THE BOLT!” I screamed, and finally he figured it out. (He’ll be ten years old next weekend, mind you. TEN.)

“I didn’t do that,” he pointed out helpfully once I was back on the correct side of the door. “It wasn’t my fault you got locked out there.”

No, dear, no it wasn’t. Thank you for clearing that up.