We live in a desert — scorpions, snakes, lots of potentially dangerous creatures.

But our little corner of Gilbert, Arizona is a paved over “suburban paradise”. We have pushed the predators aside. There are no skunks, bears, mountain lions, or even coyotes that dare to show their heads among the blacktop streets and red-tiles roofs of our neighborhood.

Our little chihuahua (Carol Baskins) walks free in the backyard without fear of being eaten from above or below.

Then in the last few weeks, I suspect a new creature has appeared.

It comes at night, sneaks into our house and nibbles at my best treats.

The wife and I had a left over cinnamon roll — or should I call it cinnamon cake. It was bigger than one-square-foot floor tile and weighed over two pounds. Actually, it was MY left over cinnamon roll. The wife ate hers when she went out to dinner with her mother, and left the “extra” for me.

I could only eat half that first night. Squirreled the rest away like it was my last nut.

Only the next morning, a huge chunk had been nibbled off a corner. Not sliced with a knife and neatly sectioned like a human would do, but pulled at the corners leaving a trail of crumbs and jagged edges with just the bottom most piece left whole.

Did we have rats? No the chihuahua would lose her shit.

Did a raccoon sneak in through the doggie door and surreptitiously steal my precious bun?

AI image of a raccoon eating MY cinnamon rolls

We had raccoons living on the roof when I was a kid in Ohio. I wouldn’t put anything past those greedy little bastards. But it’s 115 degrees in the desert. Those furry roof dwellers wouldn’t survive the first afternoon in June.

I wallowed in the sweet taste of the remaining cinnamon cake and in the sugar high forgot all about my loses.

Apple walnut bread victim of raccoon

Until two days later. Our aunt had made delicious apple walnut bread. Think pound cake with flavor — without the bloating and stuffed bowel feelings from all that butter.

I ate the first slice for dessert — light, fluffy, appely deliciousness. Left the rest in a plastic bag.

The next morning, ripped chucks and the jagged pattern of our raccoon friend. I could just picture him chittering and giggling as he (I’m guessing only a male raccoon would be stupid enough to enter a human house) ripped away the sweetest pieces of MY sugary treat.

What’s wrong with this picture? Note the pieces ripped from the top.

But wait… the bag had been zipped closed. No claw marks. No tearing at the top. The seal looked suspiciously like every bag in our freezer…

These past few nights, the wife has stayed up late to get “her work” done. Apparently, stealing my shit is her job now.

I could just picture her quietly unzipping the bag. Just sticking in a finger, maybe two to just take a little taste. Then a little more. Then just enough to even it out. Then fuck it — gab a chunk and swallow it whole before anybody catches her…

“Honey,” I said. “Do you think we have a raccoon?”

She just smiled.

“I know exactly what you did… you just started with a little nibble, then another… I did the same thing. WHEN I WAS 12.”

She put her fingers to her mouth and made little grunting noises and laughed and laughed and laughed.

“That sounds like a bear..”

Neither of us knew how a raccoon would sound. Googled that shit. Starts slow but this video is worth 90-seconds of your time.

“See,” the wife said. “They growl when protecting food. I’ll be growing when I’m raccooning your desserts.”

40 years together. She has never raccooned before. Now she is promising to growl when she raccoons in the future.

I suspect this new creature is here to stay. Proof that pavement and civilization cannot wipe out every scary predator.