Night in the Mississippi

Night falls in Mississippi. We are told by the welcome wagon that the park is home to a variety of critters, including alligators. I fervently hope they will stay in the swamp. What worse surprise on a middle of the night trip to the restroom than a gargantuan reptile in the middle of the walk? Actually, there is something worse. As the vivid orange-y pink sunset faded from the sky we hear a rustling from the bushes behind the van. Expecting a rabbit, armadillo, or at worst an alligator, I am very unhappy to see a masked bandit slink from the foliage. He boldly approaches our camp without a hint of fear and I assume my now customary position on top of the picnic table. My brave companion slings rocks at the corpulent body of our intruder. The creature pauses, checks to see if the rock is edible, and then continues forward. This fearless creature approaches closer, nearer to my own precarious position. I suddenly realize that this thing can climb, and I am no safer on top of the picnic table than I would be anywhere else. I take a flying leap off the table and make for the van. The quadruped changes direction and approaches the open doors of my haven. He gets his two front paws in before my valiant knight begins to stomp his feet and bark like a dog. Looking disdainfully over his shoulder at such a show, the raccoon resentfully halts his encroachment and returns to the woods at a leisurely pace.