We have a humane trap used to catch and relocate the always rampant squirrel population. It is a big one, but not the biggest made. Last night, I dreamed it closed with that familiar metallic sound, and something was screeching. Then I awoke, and the screeching went on.

Some nights I hear the clatter of small feet on the patio outside the door. Most nights I go back to sleep. This time, the clatter was preceded by thumping, skittering down the trees and something bumping against the flowerpots. The screeching (more of a toned down churring, but persistent) continued, now coming from more than one source. I got the flashlight and went to look.

Of course, having read several page-turning crime novels recently, I enlisted the aid of a family member. In the beam of the flashlight, a couple of raccoons ran into the garden. Wait, two more. The cries got louder.

My plums and apples are just the right size for such varmints. I got ready to chuck a few rocks, but was restrained by the family member. We were outnumbered by disease-bearing creatures of the night. I told him to turn on the sprinklers.

On they went. To no avail. The raccoon family had climbed a pyracantha bush, and indeed there was one of their family members in the trap. Out came the hose. To no avail. More loud alarm sounds from their entire family unit.

The motion-sensing lights came on as at least one of the raccoons headed back to their home tree. I went back to sleep. Much later, the family member released the one in the trap because the alarm cries kept him awake.