Having sunk his sharp teeth into the fleshy part of the raccoon’s otherwise bony ankle, Plumpkin closed his eyes and prepared for the worst. The creature kicked violently, swinging Plumpkin swung through the air like a rag doll. Then, suddenly, the raccoon changed strategy. Like a rabid dog, the angry animal began chasing its own tale. It spun in circles and gnashed its teeth. Plumpkin held on for dear life. If the ‘coon managed to sink its teeth into Plumpkin’s backside, it’d be all over. The rat would be done for.
Meanwhile, with no sign of Patch inside the muskrat den, Scruffy and Thutter turned their attention to the area surrounding it. They scurried from bush to bush, searching under every rock, root, and leaf.
“Maybe he headed up the trail to find us,” suggested Thutter.
The mouse said nothing in reply. Instead, he stood up on his hind feet and sniffed the air. A second later, he was cocking his head to one side, and whispering, “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” said Thutter.
Suddenly, a different voice sounded. “Psst…over here.” The soft yet familiar voice caught the attention of both searchers.
Thutter turned first and just in time to see the old mole step out from behind a sea grape leaf. The shrew could hardly contain himself. In a mad dash to meet his friend, he knocked the mole to the ground. The insectivores frolicked about in the mud like two playful puppies, laughing and giggling. They had only been apart for a few minutes, but the raw emotion of the already eventful evening made for a most enjoyable reunion.
Well, it did for the two insectivores, at least.
“C’mon, let’s go,” barked Scruffy. “We need to meet Plumpkin.” Scruffy had never been jealous of the special relationship that Patch and Thutter shared, but tonight their unique bond was beginning to irritate him.
Together, the reunited friends made their way down the trail where they were supposed to meet up with Plumpkin. Along the way Patch explained that he had found the backdoor hole, but the raccoon had found it too, so he couldn’t escape right away. He waited for a bit and then sunck out without the ‘coon’s notice. He had gone quite a way down the path when he began to wonder if his friends had turned back to look for him.
As for Plumpkin, his plan was a simple one. When the time was right, he’d release his hold on the raccoon, dash off in the opposite direction from the others, and find a place to hide—perhaps a tree hole or a hollow log. Then, after a few minutes, he would backtrack through the watery marsh and find his way to the trail. Assuming all went well, he’d be meeting up with his fellow travelers in no time.
All in all, the woodrat’s idea seemed foolproof—that is, right up until the raccoon managed to free himself by finally landing his teeth in Plumpkin’s rear. The woodrat unwillingly released his locked jaws with a loud yelp and an even louder squeal.
The raccoon, meanwhile, wasted little time. Turning to face his much smaller attacker, which he suddenly had cornered, he bared his teeth and stomped the ground. Fair warning had been given.
Plumpkin knew he stood little chance against the much larger and much more powerful creature, so he took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. He started to close his eyes, but before he could, a strange movement caught his eye. Behind the raccoon, tall weeds began swaying rapidly. For a second, he thought it was just the wind—but then the woodrat remembered seeing the same movement earlier in the night. Before his recollection could fully surface, a huge, scaly, black head appeared, bearing something else quite familiar—a long red forked tongue.
Plumpkin gasped as the snake reared its head, bared its razor-sharp fangs, and struck the unsuspecting raccoon along the crest of its bony back. The injured animal rolled over and winced in pain. Rearing back, the snake struck again, this time sinking its pointed fangs deep into the animal’s soft underbelly.
Frozen stiff, Plumpkin held his breath in the humid night as he watched the snake strike again and again, making mincemeat out of the bulky animal. It was a scene that would surely haunt the woodrat for the rest of his life. Slitherers just don’t attack raccoons without reason. Something wasn’t right. This was no ordinary attack. More importantly, this was no ordinary slitherer!
The rat thought about making a run for it, but the long, scaly serpent quickly moved in, and before Plumpkin knew it, its thin, red tongue was flicking his face. Like Thutter earlier in the evening, the rodent appeared to have the snake’s undivided attention. Only this time, Plumpkin was sure that the bloodthirsty beast wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity for a tasty meal.