On the Prowl

"Surely," I said, "not much wildlife remains in the city." Gees and squirrels don't count in Boston, of course. Nature, indignant, was swift with its rebuff.
At two in the morning that day I fancied a walk around my neighborhood. When I was lost in the contemplation of the ghostly light effects in the foliage and the swaying of an occasional passerby, my companion safeguarded me against running into a fluffy-tailed skunk. Luckily, the beast was concerned with his own affairs. A block or two later we stopped to look for a source of sudden bid-like chattering and with a surprise discovered a pair of raccoon eyes accosting us from the bushes. She walked out, a plump svelte body pivoted on delicate pale feet, and impassively walked away down the street. Yet, the sound did not seize, and we noticed a little creature in distress pacing the balustrade of the nearest house. "Rak-tak-tak-tak-tak. Mommy, Mommy," - he called more and more desperately, as he scrambled along back and forth and made an occasionally pass to come down.
Though the mother seemed determined to instill some independence into the youngster, tonight was not the night. His courage was not up to par, and she was forced to return and stop the undignified racket. Out of nowhere, a slick shadow appeared on the roof and slid down a drain pipe onto the balustrade: it was her with a stern and condescending look of a woman with arms akimbo. To her dismay, she found the youngster stuck in the railing, and fumbled him for some 5 minutes. We came as close and looked from below at the face of the creature, wild but unabashed, as it met, as we all do, the annoyances of its daily routine.