The Day I Almost Bought a Taxidermy Raccoon Purse

My sister-in-law and I have a new tradition.

We wander antique stores looking for the most random, confusing things imaginable to secretly hide in other people's houses.

Not expensive things.

Not useful things.

Just...things.

The kind of thing that makes someone stop dead in their tracks three months later and wonder,

"Has that always been there?"

This year's winner?

An old crow.

Wearing a pinstripe suit.

Holding a sign that simply says...

Old Crow.

Perfect.

He'll eventually find a home on someone's bookshelf or tucked above their kitchen cabinets where he'll silently judge them for the next six months.

That's the level of maturity we're working with here.

So naturally, while searching for bizarre treasures, I stumbled across something that completely derailed the mission.

A taxidermy raccoon purse.

Not raccoon-print.

Not faux fur.

An actual raccoon.

Complete with fluffy tail, tiny paws, and the unmistakable expression that said, "I have seen things."

The price tag read $75.

I stared at it.

The raccoon stared back.

And then my brain did what it has apparently been trained to do ever since Captain Trashbeard entered my life.

"I should nail that to my front door."

Not because I wanted it.

Because I wanted him to see it.

For the past week, Captain Trashbeard has declared my porch part of his nightly route.

He's knocked the empty bird feeder against my kitchen window because the buffet had closed.

He's dragged mysterious treasures across the porch in the middle of the night.

He's recruited my thirteen-year-old dog, Lucy, into what I can only assume is an organized crime ring involving stale bread and discarded leftovers.

This raccoon has no fear.

So clearly the next logical step was psychological warfare.

Can you imagine it?

Captain Trashbeard waddles onto the porch.

He looks up.

He sees the taxidermy raccoon hanging by the front door.

Silence.

"...Uncle Gary?"

At that point I completely lost it.

I'm talking tears streaming down my face.

The kind of laugh where you can't explain what's funny because saying it out loud somehow makes it even more ridiculous.

How do you explain to someone,

"No, I don't want to carry the raccoon purse. I want to use it to send a message to another raccoon."

Normal people don't have thoughts like this.

Normal people see a taxidermy raccoon purse and slowly back away.

Apparently, I see one and start planning an elaborate intimidation campaign against local wildlife.

As if the raccoon purse wasn't enough, there was also a taxidermy coyote purse.

And yes...

For a brief moment, I considered buying it for my dad for Father's Day.

Which probably sounds horrifying unless you've read the story about the time he conveniently had to leave town on a business trip right after a dead coyote turned up on the property.

Somehow, my sister and I became the official coyote removal crew.

Funny how that worked out.

So naturally my first thought was,

"Dad would appreciate this."

Not because he would carry it.

But because nothing says "Thanks for outsourcing childhood trauma" quite like gifting someone a taxidermy coyote.

Needless to say, I left the purse behind.

Mostly because I couldn't justify spending $75 on a joke.

But Captain Trashbeard...

If you're reading this...

Just know you got lucky sir.