Too many people want you to dismiss a raccoon's deal of "Oh they're mischievous cat-dogs with friendly washed hands and a jewel-thief face" when it's really an ALL-HANDS NO-FEET TRASH-CAT WITH A DOG'S STOMACH AND A POSSUM'S HEART. It can put itself up in trees but it waddles on the ground, I can't be in trustment of a beast that clambers and waddles both; either be graceful and lithe all of times, or be clumsy…

Saturday night. I'm hanging out with my parents at a bland suburban bar. They are in Omaha for the night, having temporarily fled their small town due to its chronic microbrew shortage. I have joined them partly because I have nothing else to do, and partly because I truly enjoy their company. Also, they buy me beer. I could tell when I arrived that my dad was spoiling for an argument. He and Teresa, my…