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Surprisingly, The Star reporter Amy Dempsey's sharp close-up of the crazy creatures destroying Toronto at night work has nothing to do with Governor Doug Ford and his minions who canceled the election. . This is about raccoons.

I have a personal relationship with the raccoons that I do not have with the Ford Conservatives, although at least one group has gone out to learn about me and my false opinions. But which rat-like individual is it? Jon the Raccoon looks a lot like Jane the Raccoon in the dark. This is not personal to the pest. But for me.

"Cities are like people, they have their own (rodent) stories," writes rat historian Robert Sullivan.

I deal with violent neighbors, Fed couriers who don’t call, drunk neighbors, and cats who don’t follow the agreement. But the raccoon is a common criminal in Toronto. Where are the real crime books, novels, and movies?

The raccoon will disappear into the crack like a mouse. In the wild, they eat insects, mice, birds, fish, toads, anything really. But I know what they like best, because we have the same taste: roast chicken and beef ribs. Raccoons are not found in the wild or even in crowded provincial parks. So they used furry, uncombed hands to harass my green trash can.

We have a small green trash can that can be placed in the trash can storage part of the shed. But now we have big and sturdy ones, and the city government happily bought them for $31 million. Even the first-rate raccoons with glasses and hacksaws guarantee that they are impenetrable.

There is no place to hide the big green trash can now. I can put it next to the dining table to show children how much food we Westerners waste, but moral lessons often pass by them. The smell bored them with mashed potatoes.

I had to deal with mice—local buildings let them spray along dirt tunnels—dangerous dogs, and worst of all, squirrels who wanted to move into the attic. But the raccoons cost us real money, time and conspiracy. I think we can shoot them with projectile guns, but even squirrels laugh at them.

The raccoon already knows which night is the garbage festival. On the Monday night before the pick-up, as Dempsey described, the green trash can, which was clamped between the black trash can and the blue recyclable trash can, overturned. A creature turned the handle. not me.

Dempsey was told that a screw in her handle was loose. Therefore, the city tightened it, either tightening it so enthusiastically that the screw damaged its sleeve, or it is more likely that the raccoon's continuous beating eventually broke the mechanism.

So my raccoon climbed onto the roof of the garden shed next to the trash can for another purpose: to excrete rather than eat. There is nothing you can tell me about the raccoon toilet.

Possible side effects: raccoon feces carry roundworms, which can survive in high temperature, winter or even dry environments, and may cause blindness or coma in humans. So don't boil it or put it in your refrigerator.

So we got a Yard Sentinel worth $40, an "electronic ultrasonic animal repellent" with a motion sensor. It emits a tone that raccoons don't like, not so much a dog whistle, as a raccoon tune. It seems to work.

This year, we bought the second Yard Sentinel, and this time directly aimed at the trash can, just like God knows Trump’s space force. It worked, and then it didn't. Raccoons can ravage entire streets throughout Monday night if they want. They chose us.

Based on the suggestion of a local outdoor athlete who uses bungee cords to seal trash cans, we purchased a safety belt device. The problem is that I can no longer open the trash can.

But I believe raccoons can, so I put it in an actual shed, which contains clay pots, scissors, scissors, lawn mowers, ladders and old blood meal (it will scare squirrels). There was not much space, the shed exuded a stench, but I paid some price and won.

I am smarter than a raccoon, and a raccoon is smarter than Mayor John Tory. The downside is that I'm talking about raccoons.

The skunk will be worse. After spraying, smart people can't hide in the house without the front notes of sulfur and burning rubber described as rotten "cabbage" to destroy it. I don't know what people are doing. The hotel does not let them in.

Snakes will be worse. In Toronto, they are pet snakes. In Manitoba, they would have sex with dozens of people in the twisting ball, like a snake in a washing machine.

I used to hide under the big centipede under the porch cushion all day, so I am too young to be the pest commentator you need. You will want a Amy Dempsey, reporter, detective, scientist, calm person. I want to know if she is dealing with a cold case?

You need American detective Michelle McNamara, who uses data to hunt down the Golden State Killer, or Canadian criminologist Kin Rossmo, who helped invent the killer’s geographic features.

Because this is Toronto. What was once an occasional night raid turned into an invasion. Raccoons are our scourge.

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