The strange thing about living in Australia is you're used to terrible, nocturnal screeching things, many of which fly. You're used to spiders as big as your hand, or ignoring one of the 10 most deadly snakes turning up while you're walking around the block. You're used to, on a hike, running into furry things as tall as you hopping around the place while carrying their young in flesh pouches.
But raccoons? That’s so weird. They're real things? For serious? That rummage through your garbage?
