Well, it happened. For better or worse.

We hadn't heard from (or seen) the raccoon for weeks. Which was unlike him. When you own a neighborhood, you flaunt it - whether it's asking for cigarettes from a different species, stealing bread from national sandwich chains, or just taking a dump whenever/wherever you want. That's just the nature of kingship.

At any rate, I was driving back from Historic West Adams late on a Saturday night. I had just transferred to the 405 and was dodging cars to get onto the exit ramp to Wilshire. Traffic was backed up along the ramp...which gave me the opportunity to see it.

Lying along the roadside, dead as a doornail, was the biggest raccoon anyone had ever seen. A tire-sized stripe was caved into its side, and its mouth was just open enough to bare teeth.

It was at this point that I realized that traffic was so backed up because everyone who was exiting the 405 at Wilshire was rubber-necking this giant fallen beast.

I've been hoping for weeks that I was wrong - that the King had perhaps faked his own death to throw us off the trail. Or that one of his mininions had siply taken a cue from him and tried to assert its authority over the residents at an inopportune time and paid the ultimate price.

Regardless, we have had no run-ins with the raccoon for weeks. It's time to move on with our lives...at least, until the next species of giant wildlife pops up.

Thanks for being with us.

I let the trash pile up in the garbage can until it was an appropriate mixture of raccoon-baiting garbage - one bag of Jack in the Box, one bag of Carl's Jr., one Hot Pocket box, two boxes of cereal and thirty six cans of Diet Pepsi. I had done research of the internet variety on what kind of garbage appeals to the raccoons' senses and I felt good about this mixture. As I bagged up the trash, I remembered this comment someone left me on my MySpace that I had previously ignored...

"He's not my raccoon. I don't know him. I don't know his name. I don't know anything about his alleged criminal activities. I've never helped him rape marcupials. And I have no idea why they call him 'Snow Man.' So STOP SNITCHING!"

Why I ignored this comment until this very moment, I honestly don't know. Sure I've been binge drinking and learning how to dance the Chicken Noodle Soup but that's no excuse. Obviously the reveal - if it is true - that "they" call the raccoon "Snow Man" is gigantic, although I'm not sure why yet. I do know that it is also the moniker of rapper Young Jeezy, which very well could suggest a connection between Jeezy and the raccoon. Snow is a slang term for cocaine. Maybe the raccoon is a foot soldier, a trafficker of cocaine. This is all just speculation on my part, but I'd say there's an 85% chance it's accurate.

All of this speculation has left me with a choice. Should I try to trap the raccoon on my own, or should I try to contact the individual who contacted me about trying to contact the raccoon?

Many other, lesser people in this situation would try to be a hero, rent a sniper rifle with tranquilizer darts, night vision goggles and embark on a dramatic attempt to ensare the raccoon. But not me. I remember that we live in a post 9/11 world where Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin can be killed by a Stingray. And if the Crocodile Hunter can be killed by a Stingray than the Raccoon Blogger "lookatthatfuckingthing!" could certainly be killed by a raccoon. I've decided I should go into the raccoon trapping process with as much information as possible. Therefore, I will reach out to this Aram...hopefully for a meeting...where I can interrogate him, get as much info on "Snow Man" the raccoon as possible, and hopefully bring him to his family...or to justice, whichever is necessary.

It's taken me a little over a week to post because I was genuinely upset by Tim's snide comments regarding my last realization regarding the raccoon. Calling my open-minded concern for the raccoon and his family a "love fest" is exactly the kind of anti-emotional statement one would expect from a hipster who goes to see TV on the Radio at the Hollywood Bowl...and then fabricates a raccoon attack to sway public opinion in the direction of "all raccoons are bad."

This is simply unfair.

There comes a time, at least twice a week, that I have to take out the trash. After I tie up the garbage bag and walk out of my apartment, I start thinking about how long of a walk it is to the trash chute. And I think about the fact that the hallway leading to the trash chute is open on one side, looking down on a walkway between our apartment building and one west of us. My next thought is, "Instead of walking all the way down this long ass hallway to throw this bag of garbage down the chute, why don't I just chuck it over the railing into the abyss?" I can't tell you how often I've been tempted by this thought. I've never actually followed through with it though. I respect the ecological health of the walkway too much. This is, after all, the same walkway where Loren encountered the raccoon right before she lit a cigarette. It is also the same walkway that a 19 year old female bum has started sleeping in. Alas, I wouldn't want to fuck up the home of a miscreant.

However, I wouldn't mind ruining the environment or throwing trash at a bum if it's a way to lure in the raccoon. I anticipate the garbage can will be full some time before this coming Thursday...and on that night, whichever night it may be, I plan on chucking our garbage over the railing. Knowing that raccoons love garbage, I suspect this will bring the raccoon to our walkway where I can trap him - in a friendly way.

And the process of getting the raccoon's family back can begin...