BACK AWAY FROM THE CRUNCHY SNACKS!
So far they haven't succeeded, but it's only a matter of time.
One of these days he'll be drunk again.
Then they'll strike.
As a pre-emptive manoeuvre, he has been buying the loyalty of the feral neighborhood cats by putting out food for them during daylight hours, when there are no raccoons about. The cats have gratefully tucked in, and have become really fond him.
His loyal cat army, feline mercenaries.
Unfortunately raccoons wipe the floor with cats. He had not realized that. One raccoon can whup any number of pussies single handedly. Single pawedly. Paws.
There are several raccoons. Only three cats.
The cats don't even organize.
He's totally hosed.
His cat legions are no match for the furry savages.
He feels like a Roman emperor, whose borders are besieged by the barbarians.
Vandals! Goths! Persians!
"They're brutalizing my subjects!"
In his mind, it's all about civilization versus the savage Hunnish hordes.
The hordes are enslaving the cats. His cats! It's personal now!
That, and the fact that he's too scared to buy tacos.
I've told him to lock his doors and hide under the bed.
That's the only advice that I have.
I'm rooting for him.
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