Erika Schickel

The tree in front of my building hosts a murder of crows. They are noisy bastards, but their cawing is so conversational it doesn't bother me. I like to lie in bed and listen to them yack. They sound like they're saying things like: “Hey Rita, look at this nice, soggy French fry I brought you!” or, "You know, I think I'll walk, my sciatica is killing me!" Crows are funny, canny creatures.

But last night I was jolted awake by a horrific screeching, as if Godzilla were fighting Mothra in the Chinese Elm outside my window.

At first I thought it was a catfight, but it was missing the low, rolling yowl that precedes the screechy tangle. It was the crows. They were shouting, warning each other, saying, "Get the fuck out of here you summana bitch!!" Then I heard an actual collision of bodies. It was some kind of epic fight to the death, and it drove me from my bed and out onto the street to investigate.

I found my neighbor in her nightdress, staring up into the tree where three enormous raccoons perched, glowering at us from a low branch.

The looks on the Ricky-Racks' faces told the whole story: they were eating some crow, but not in the way they had planned. It is fledgling season for crows, and the 'coons had been hoping for a midnight snack.They had gambled and lost to the birds. They looked like a gang of bullies thwarted on the schoolyard: hunched, unapologetic and clearly pissed.

My neighbor and I stood on the pavement for a few minutes, staring up before it occurred to us it might not be a great idea to stand directly beneath a tree loaded with hungry, angry raccoons. I backed away slowly and went back to bed.

Of course, I’m no Veronique de Turenne, so I didn't have my camera with me to capture the actual wildlife. But the next day I found evidence of the dark encounter. I'm so sorry folks -- if you want beautiful photographs of rainbows and sunrises, waterfowl and frolicking Labradors, then do go over to Here in Malibu -- because over here at I On LA all I have to offer you is a steamy pile of raccoon shit:

Hey, just be glad it wasn’t Godzilla.