I was in bed when Gary showed up at my bedroom door and whispered, "ellen you have to come see the raccoon babies on the patio they've been patting on the window and looking in at me."
Of course, I went to the back door and saw no baby raccoons at all. Gary flipped on the porch light, and indeed there were four wee raccoons. I thought they'd run, but two of they just wandered around in circles, one stared at me, and the last made a low and slow beeline to his mother by the tree in the middle of the yard.
We admired them, then Gary made the mistake of tossing food at them, which they saw as a barrage of peanut artillery, and they ran.
Gary wanted to thank all the raccoons, and took the the chance to fill the feeding station by the tree. He returned from the tree way too quickly in every sense: in that it wasn't a long enough time and he was moving way too fast.
"Yikes," he said, "Momma raccoon is not happy with me. I got out there and she didn't run: she stood and growled at me."
Sure, he was out there feeding her babies, and that's her job. She was jealous. Understandable.