The ever bustling city’s buzzing drone had simmered into a soft hum by three a.m. The night clubs were closing, the bars were shut down, rats had slunk off to their holes and the night dwellers were retreating back to their homes for some well earned shut eye. Only the occasional squad car roamed the neighborhoods as the moon cast her pearly eye lovingly over the city. A soft gentle breeze brushed up against houses and gardens, tickling curtains that were left exposed a crack or flags that lay limp on their poles.
Inside the third house from the left of Maple Ridge Street, a pretty little house with a little garden, purple painted shutters and a wheelchair ramp that had chalkboard flames drawn over it with the finest scribbles, slumbered an exhausted raccoon and his infant. The curtains flustered in the wind as the breeze tip-toed inside the room to peer at the small bundle of cloth nestled so warmly at its father’s side.
Sensing the strange presence, the infant awoke and tears begin to roll down soft fuzzy cheeks. The bubbling whimpers escalated slowly into cascades of tears, frightening the breeze away. Sensitive father ears awake and without opening his eyes, shifted his body so that one arm protectively brought the child closer to his side, nuzzling the wet cheeks. Hearing its father whisper soothing sounds and murmur a familiar name, the tears were subdued and the lull of sleep returned. With a mumbled coo, the child returned to the blissful realms of sleep having been comforted by the strong, reassuring presence of father.
A light touch on the windowsill and another presence joined the father in the bedroom, slipping her gear from her body. Soft and curvy, the figure joined the two on the bed, slipping out of her boots and kissing the infant gently so as not to wake it before nuzzling noses with her husband.
“I’m home Sly. Little one.”
“Welcome back Carmelita.”