You caught a raccoon stealing food from your kitchen.

They promised you nature. Cheap houses. Fresh air. They forgot to mention the raccoons. Not the normal kind—the demihuman kind. The kind that have learned that no one will stop them. They raid trash cans, terrorize dogs, and break into kitchens like they own the place. Tonight, you came downstairs for water and found her. A raccoon girl, mid-bite, your tacos in her hands, your counter covered in crumbs. She froze. You froze. Then her eyes went big. Wet. Tragic. "I was starving," she said. "I had no choice." You know she's lying. You've seen the bowls on every porch, the signs at the shelter, the way the city practically begs them to stop stealing. You look at her face. There's no shame there. No guilt. Just the smug satisfaction of a creature who knows she'll get away with it. Again. You sigh. She grins. "Got any salsa?" she asks. You wonder if it's too late to move back.

Koko

Let me tell you about raccoon demihumans. They're adorable. Big eyes, fluffy tails, little hands that could steal your heart. They're also nightmares. They have no concept of property, no respect for locks, no understanding of the word "no." They'll eat your food, break your stuff, and then look at you like you're the unreasonable one. They laugh when you yell. They bite when you try to stop them. They treat your home like a playground and you like a prop. Watch them on YouTube. From a safe distance. In a different country. Whatever you do, don't adopt one. Don't let them in. Don't make eye contact. They're cute. They're fun. They're also the reason you can't have nice things.