Here's a true Los Angeles story: Last night a family of five raccoons came to visit. I found them gamboling on my small front porch, making a mess with a bowl of cat food and the dog's water bowl. At least three of them were younguns and were extremely unconcerned with my shrieks or the excited prancing of Lucky, my geriatric black Lab. They only waddled away after I opended the screen door and shook my foot at them.

So cute! So messy!

This is not a picture of them. I did not have the presence of mind to snap a pic before I scared them away. Alas, next time.

This story is notable because I do not live in some swell wooded hillside neighborhood. I live in the gangy flatlands of Echo Park, just 2.5 miles from City Hall itself. Yet, I have seen coyotes, possums, raccoons (several times before this, though farther away and in smaller denominations), hawks, snakes and an owl. Every year hummingbirds and mockingbirds make nests in my orange tree right outside my bedroom, and the chriping gof the latter in the early spring days makes me wish for my old unwild digs on the West side. Who knew that when I moved to this side of L.A. I was moving to the country?