Varmint the Raccoon: A Portrait
A week ago, Bob and Judy Torrens, who have been adopted into the Kaufman family, honored my published novel with a framed photo of one of the more memorable if peripheral characters, Varmint the raccoon. Thank you so much for this thoughtful gift, which sits on my bedroom shelf and has so far survived the curiosity of my three mischievous kittens.
The picture, shown here, provides an opportunity to talk about this character. Varmint, who would have much more preferred a life of anonymity, starts the story by getting her foot caught in a trap. It’s a minor incident (except to her) but it is the first domino that starts the whole long row toppling over.
Varmint is an extraordinarily intelligent creature. As someone who had tried very hard to make this book historically and logically plausible, I worried that I gave her more brains than a raccoon could have, but I rationalized this way:
1. Raccoons are a least as intelligent as dogs (witness their successful raids on suburban garbage cans), and dogs have been proven to understand the rudiments of if-then-else logic.
2. Average IQ implies that there are some that score way above the medium. I’m no slouch myself, yet I am incapable of understanding the world according to Steven Hawking. Likewise, think of Varmint as the Einstein of the raccoon world.
One final note: In spite of a comment made by one of my earlier readers, this book does not contain “conversational fauna.” Varmint does not speak, even to other raccoons, and neither does the faithful Dunderhead or belligerent Greedy Guts. Nor do they understand human words–my own kittens have not yet learned, after three months, how to parse the simple sentence: “NO!”
But throughout the book, I let you look through the eyes of whatever character has the floor. This includes several chapters from the viewpoint of a murderous lunatic, as well as the sometimes frantic, sometimes curious, meanderings of a wild animal who is pretty far down the food chain.
