We've got a raccoon problem.
It started a few weeks ago just after we had planted winter plants in our garden. The next day the bulbs were on the path and the garden was full of burrowed holes.
Later that week I saw 4 of them playing in the garden. Remembering that Anne had said they can attack you and give you rabies (the fear of all British people - because we don't have it on our island!), I just knocked on the door and they ran off.
This coincided with Anne returning from a visit to Cleveland, so when I met her at the airport I filled her in on the issue.
We got home and she went straight out to check out the damage. Sat on the top of our pergola were 4 raccoons. Reading raccoon body language I'd guess they were giving us the middle finger. Not that I could see them because it was a) dark, and b) I was stood on the balcony away from the danger.
Anne's from Ohio, so she knows what to do, and she proceeded to shine the flash-light from her iPhone at them and make a noise that I would spell out as shhhuuuuffff.
Mission accomplished as someone else once erroneously said.
This past week the fuckers were back again, despite the addition of a sonic blaster set to, "Fuck you up raccoon".
So I ordered a waterproof radio - based on the idea that they are scared of human voices.
This past weekend I set it to NPR, because it's scientifically proven that twattish animals hate liberal do-gooder broadcasters.
So far? No raccoons. Thanks Terry Gross.