Coonfighting: The New Cockfighting

I woke up this morning around fiveish to the sound of my cat galloping full-tilt under our bed and barricading herself there while growling at nothing. For those not in the Pacific Northwest, this is the time when the sallow light coming through the windowshades is just enough to make you think you don't need to turn on the light, so you end up sticking your bare foot into a semi-dried hairball your beloved pet has left you as a present beside your bed.

When she wouldn't quit growling, I woke Liz and told her that something was wrong. We decided to explore what aspect of our new abode might have caused this distress. Of course, I'm trying not to think about the various horror movie explanations.

As we got to the living room, it became apparent that there was some kind of fracas on our lawn. A noise like squeaking children, and some furry shapes moving very quickly. I wiped the eyecheddar out and tried to focus: there were at least two raccoons tearing each other apart. Then, I saw the third raccoon, kind of presiding over the fight like a referee. It would occasionaly go in for a hit on the smaller raccoon, but most of the time it was waddling off to the side or up on its hind legs for a better view. They fought like cats, which is to say with lots of neckbiting, head-grabbing, and kicking with the rears. In fact, I thought the two were beating up a cat until Liz said she saw three big fuzzy raccoon tails and bandit masks.

Something scared them, and they ran off.

I wonder: if I can capture these creatures and make them fight, maybe I can make some money off my redneck neighbors in booking bets?

I'll explore this option.