Raccoon Rampage - The Raid. Nadia Shireen

small crowd had gathered, villagers in pyjamas and dressing gowns; some carrying torches, some pitchforks. “Sounds like your young nephew saved your shop,” panted Miriam from the cafe. “He’s a hero! If he hadn’t chased that old grizzly into the forest, who knows what might have happened?”

      Max lowered his shotgun and hugged his nephew. “Raymond,” he said. “Your ma’s wrong about you. You’re a good boy.”

      “But it’s still winter,” said Tyrone from the hardware store. “Grizzlies don’t surface till the spring. They should be hibernating.”

      “W—well this one most certainly wasn’t sleeping,” stammered Raymond. “My uncle’s shop proves that. And the footprints in the snow. And it’s nearly spring, ain’t it? Maybe this old critter just woke early. Maybe it’s global warmin’?”

      “I guess he was just plain old hungry,” nodded Max. “Hungry enough to trash my shop,” he said, casting a rueful glance at the damage. “Come on, nephew, let’s get you back inside. Maybe things will look better in the daylight.”

      The raccoons watched as the humans went back to their houses and one by one the lights went out. Sunshine persuaded the gang to go back for their supplies. “Just one bag,” he said. “Otherwise our raid was for nothing.”

      “But what about the bear?” asked Rocky.

      “Stay on red alert, boys,” suggested Quickpaw. “One bag and we’ll be away.”

      The four raccoons slunk back to Max’s, remaining in the shadows at all times. Rocky was extra nervous now that a bear had been added to the hazards. They picked up the heaviest carrier bag and carried it aloft. They made their way silently across the road and followed the bear’s pawprints. “He’s a big fella,” said Dempsey, looking at the size of the prints.

      Quickpaw stopped and sniffed the air. “Waddaya smell, guys?” he asked, his nose twitching in the crisp mountain breeze.

      The gang stopped, noses to the breeze. “Nothing, boss,” replied Dempsey.

      “And what’s the one thing we know about bears?”

      “That they’re always in a bad mood?” piped up Dempsey. “That’s why we call them grizzly.”

      “And the other thing?” prompted Quickpaw.

      “They stink,” said Rocky, pinching his nose. “Everyone knows that bears poo in the woods.”

      Quickpaw’s nose went to one of the pawprints. He put his keen raccoon nose to the ground and sniffed again. “And nothing here either,” he said, his raccoon eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Very curious. This bear has no smell.”

      The raccoons spent the night huddled together in their den, their tummies squeaking with hunger. Quickpaw knew that leadership wasn’t always about being popular, and he decided the food was to be rationed. “The villagers are on alert,” he explained. “So food raids are out for the time being. The lake is frozen so there’s no chance of fish. We have to make this bag of food last as long as possible.”

      Dempsey slept fitfully, a silly raccoon grin on his face as he dreamed of apples, chutney and peanut butter. Rocky had put on his warmest pants and pulled them up to his neck. But the cold got through to his bony body and he shivered his way through the night. Quickpaw curled his bushy tail round the gang in an attempt to keep them warm. As leader he knew his job was to keep his friends safe and keep their tummies full. This was his toughest leadership test.

      Quickpaw didn’t sleep a wink. As Rocky’s teeth chattered, his mind played out some cunning plans. But even his creative genius was struggling to come up with a plan that would see them through the winter. He looked at the carrier bag of food and thought things through. He reckoned it would last one week at most. This was going to be a very tough winter.

      The sun came up and Quickpaw unfurled his tail, allowing the chill to wake Rocky and Dempsey. The raccoons stretched, yawned and shivered. Quickpaw allowed them an apple and one scoop of apricot jam each. The troop sat on the branch outside their den and surveyed the scene below.

      The snow was thick and a biting wind chased through the trees. The villagers were going about their business. Max and his nephew were hammering at his windows, boarding them up to keep out the chill. The bakery was doing brisk business. Dempsey had peered in through the window once and he imagined how warm and cosy it would be right now, with the smell of fresh bread and the ovens on full blast. He wiped the slobber from his mouth. “Sure am peckish,” he complained, licking the jam from his whiskers.

      “We all are,” said Quickpaw. “We have to be strong. We have two months of deepest winter left.”

      “And about a week’s worth of food,” continued Sunshine. “So we’d better get used to being hungry.”

      Rocky’s shoulders wilted. He nipped back inside and put on an extra pair of pants, his favourite Superman ones.

      “We need a plan,” he said, returning to the branch. “Quickpaw, any ideas?”

      Three pairs of beady eyes fixed on their leader. He always had a plan. Or an idea. Quickpaw looked into the distance. “I have an idea...” he began.