Chapter 1: Claws, Crackers, and Cheaters
After my cheating, lowlife husband left me in a coma, I woke up as a wild raccoon in the Appalachians. Honestly, can you believe it? One minute I'm out cold, the next I'm stuck with fur, claws, and a tail, and my first thought is: Seriously? This is my afterlife? Figures.
Let me tell you, nothing—and I mean nothing—can prepare you for the shock of waking up with a tail and claws, smack in the middle of a place that smells like moss, rain, and old leaves. I shrieked. I twisted. I prowled those forested hills like I owned the joint—wild and absolutely free. The wind tasted like mountain laurel and river mud. I howled and hissed at every tourist who dared come through without offering me a peanut butter cracker—no exceptions. If you came hiking with a snack, you’d better share. Or you’d find yourself on the wrong end of my raccoon temper. Folks learned fast: Pine Ridge’s raccoons don’t mess around.
Until—
That scumbag showed up, strolling down the trail, arm-in-arm with his new girlfriend. Of course. Just my luck.
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Everyone knows a female raccoon is, well, a lady. And so am I. So, on day two of my coma, I swapped souls with a raccoon—fate’s idea of a joke.
I remember that moment like a fever dream. When I opened my eyes again, I was a rambunctious raccoon on Pine Ridge. The world was sharper, louder, bigger, and so much stranger. Every sound felt like it was meant just for me. Wild, right?
I touched my furry paws and caught my beady-eyed, pointy-snouted reflection in the creek. Honestly, I was just relieved to be alive and moving. Thank goodness. The water rippled with my shock, but I was grateful for motion, for breath—even if it came out as a chitter. What a way to start over.
But—
"Hey, you in the black windbreaker! Can you stop blocking me?"
"I need to get down the mountain, go home, and take down that couple who stole my house!"
"I want to steal my own body, run off into the world, and live a wild, loving, inseparable life—just one woman and one raccoon, forever."
"Let me go! Let me go!"
But the park ranger wouldn’t let me out of his sight.
Every time I tried to slip past, he’d scoop me up like I was a stray kitten, his hands surprisingly gentle but annoyingly firm. By the 250th time he tossed me back into the woods, I caught him grinning and chatting with some tourists. I swear, this guy thought he was hilarious.
"Ranger, this raccoon keeps chattering. What’s it saying?"
"Oh, she’s just being a raccoon. Gets real excited when she sees pretty ladies, keeps saying how beautiful you are."
The two tourists blushed. "Really?"
"Would I lie to you?"
Me:
"???"
"Hey! Girls! He’s lying to you! Men’s words are nothing but lies! Yeah, you’re pretty, but I’m cursing him out! Cursing! Him! Out!"
Tourists, confused: "Why is it chittering even louder now?"
The ranger, totally unfazed: "Just happy from all the compliments."
"..."
I let my raccoon face fall, not wanting to say another word. My tail drooped, and I gave him my best raccoon stink-eye, but he just winked and went back to his ranger routine. Some days, you just can’t win.
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