I had a pet coon many years ago.
I used to terrorize him before he got the best of me.
I’d make him a stack of peanut butter and cracker sandwiches.
First I’d remove his water bowl.
Or I’d give him a slo-poke candy bar and he’d glue his mouth shut.
And I’d put guppies in his water bowl.
He go crazy trying to catch em.
My dad had 2 when he was young - one was an utter terror and didn’t stay in the house long (I still haven’t figured out if that meant he left for the wild or grandma made supper of em). The other stuck around a good long time - I have three stories on him. 1) everytime he saw a laundry basket full of clothes he felt it was his duty to properly distribute them from the basket, 2) he would climb up on the back of the couch and attack my aunt’s hair from the rear, and 3) (with independent confirmation) he would go down to the tavern periodically and scratch at the back door - he was collared so everyone knew him - and they would serve him bowels of beer. When he was full he’d “waddle” back home - the funny thing for me is everyone I talked to about this used the term “waddle” never stumbled, walked, staggered, meandered, slowly moved, nothing else - it was always ‘waddled’. I’d love to have met that coon.