0:00 The galvanized latch on the porch door gave way with a soft, metallic click.0:05 Remy froze, his black-masked face tilted toward the kitchen window, one wet paw suspended mid-air.0:13 Nothing stirred inside the yellow farmhouse.0:16 Just the hum of a refrigerator and the steady, ticking chorus of crickets out in the tall orchard grass.0:24 Last week, our friend Barnaby the beaver discovered that taking down an entire willow tree before lunch can land you stuck neck-deep in river mud.0:35 Well, if Barnaby’s trouble was a matter of biting off more than he could chew, Remy’s problem was something a little different.0:45 Remy believed, with every twitch of his whiskers, that anything left unattended was simply an invitation waiting to be accepted.0:55 He was a yearling raccoon, sleek and quick, with nimble front paws that worked almost like little human hands.1:03 Those clever hands could untie knots, slip door bolts, and turn the threaded lids of peanut butter jars.1:11 For months, Remy had made an absolute art out of the midnight harvest.1:17 Sweet corn snatched from the edge of the patch, sunflower heads plucked from their stalks, and fallen plums carried off into the brambles.1:27 But tonight, tonight smelled entirely different.1:31 The wind carried a scent across the gravel driveway that stopped Remy dead in his tracks.1:38 It wasn’t sour fruit or stale grain.1:40 It was buttery, sharp, and rich.1:43 A scent so golden and crisp that his dark little nostrils flared until they trembled.1:49 It was cheddar pastry.1:51 Old Mrs.1:52 Gable had spent the afternoon baking savory hand-pies for tomorrow’s harvest fair in the village.1:59 When she went up to bed, she had left the wooden pantry window propped open three inches with a notched pine wedge, just enough to let the summer breeze cool the trays.2:12 She thought the sturdy wire screen would keep out the local wildlife.2:17 Mrs.2:18 Gable, bless her heart, had never met Remy.2:21 He scrambled up the rough cedar post of the back trellis with barely a scrape.2:27 His claws found every tiny knot in the wood.2:30 When he reached the sill, he pressed his black nose directly against the metal mesh and took one long, greedy breath.2:39 Oh, it was real.2:40 The pastries sat on a heavy, wire cooling rack right in the middle of the butcher-block island.2:48 Golden brown.2:49 Flaky.2:49 Smelling of toasted flour, melted butter, and aged sharp cheese.2:54 Between Remy and those pies stood two things: eighteen inches of empty air, and that stiff wire screen.3:02 Now, a woodland creature with a bit more patience might have turned back toward the apple orchard.3:09 But Remy looked at that screen, and he just saw a puzzle he hadn't solved yet.3:15 He worked his nimble little fingers into the lower corner where the wire met the pine frame.3:22 He pulled.3:23 Nothing.3:24 He bit the edge, testing the tension.3:27 Still nothing.3:28 Then, using his sharp rear claws for purchase against the cedar siding, he gave a steady, rhythmic levering tug.3:36 Creeeeak.3:37 The tiny brads holding the bottom edge surrendered.3:41 A gap opened, no wider than two fingers.3:44 That was his first mistake.3:46 He didn't need to break the whole screen.3:49 He just needed to slide his paws inside, feel along the painted sill, and tap that pine wedge out of place.3:57 With a soft clack, the wedge tumbled onto the linoleum floor below.4:03 The heavy sash dropped an inch, leaving just enough room for a slender raccoon skull to squeeze beneath the glass.4:11 Remy wriggled.4:12 His whiskers brushed both sides of the rough sash.4:16 His ears pinned back flat against his skull.4:20 His shoulders went through with a firm pop.4:23 And then, with a quiet thud that barely shook the floorboards, all twelve pounds of midnight bandit dropped down into the warm, fragrant sanctuary of Mrs.4:35 Gable’s kitchen.4:36 Inside, the shadows were cool and blue, patterned by the bright moonlight pouring through the curtains.4:44 The kitchen smelled of dried rosemary, paraffin wax, and that intoxicating cheddar crust.4:51 Remy padded on silent pads across the yellow-and-white checkered floor.4:56 He didn't wander.4:57 He didn't look at the copper pots hanging above the stove or the glass jars of sourdough starter on the counter.5:06 His entire world had shrunk down to the legs of that butcher-block island.5:12 He scrambled up the painted turned-oak legs like they were birch saplings.5:17 There they were.5:18 Six hand-pies, crimped along the edges with the tines of a silver fork, glistening with a brush of baked cream.5:27 Remy didn't just want one.5:29 That was his second mistake.5:31 He grabbed the nearest pastry with both paws and tore into the flaky crust.5:37 Rich cheese and warm pastry filled his mouth.5:40 It was better than orchard windfalls.5:43 It was better than the sweet bottom-stalks of June corn.5:47 He bolted the first pie down in four frantic gulps.5:51 Then he looked at the second one.5:54 And the third.5:55 He didn't just eat.5:56 He hoarded.5:57 He dragged two more toward the edge of the block, wolfing down thick bites until his belly felt taut, rounded, and heavy as a river stone.6:08 By the time he reached the fourth pie, he wasn't even hungry anymore.6:13 But it was there.6:14 It was sitting on that wire rack, golden and unguarded, and Remy’s clever little brain simply could not bear the thought of leaving a single crumb behind.6:26 He pushed the remaining crusts toward the corner of the table.6:31 He stuffed his cheeks until he could barely close his jaws.6:35 His sides bulged like a pair of overfilled saddlebags.6:40 And right then, upstairs, the floorboards gave a loud, hollow groan.6:45 Mrs.6:45 Gable was awake.6:46 Heavy, slippered footsteps crossed the ceiling above his head.6:51 A bedside lamp clicked on, casting a faint amber glow down the stairwell.6:57 Remy froze.6:57 His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped sparrow.7:02 Thump.7:02 Thump.7:03 Thump.7:03 He dropped what was left of the fifth pie.7:07 He scrambled off the butcher block, his claws skittering across the smooth wood, and hit the kitchen floor with a heavy, ungraceful slap.7:17 The agility that had carried him up the trellis had vanished beneath three pounds of warm butter and pastry crust.7:26 He dashed for the open pantry window.7:29 The slippers were halfway down the wooden stairs now.7:33 Creak.7:33 Thud.7:34 Creak.7:34 Remy leaped for the sill.7:36 He hit it with his front paws, scrambled frantically with his back toes, and shoved his snout through the gap beneath the sash.7:46 His whiskers cleared the frame.7:48 His ears slid through into the cool night air.7:51 Then, he stopped.7:53 Not because he wanted to.7:55 Because he was STUCK.7:56 His ribs, swollen round with stolen feast, wedged firmly against the weathered wooden window sill below and the heavy glass sash above.8:07 He pushed with his back legs.8:09 He kicked against the kitchen baseboard.8:12 He was wedged tight as a cork in a cider jug.8:15 He couldn't go forward.8:17 He couldn't back up.8:19 Behind him, the kitchen door swung open.8:22 The overhead fluorescent light hummed to life with a blinding, white buzz.8:27 "Well, now," Mrs.8:29 Gable’s voice said, dry and steady as a prairie fence post.8:33 "What on earth do we have here?" Remy tucked his tail tight between his back legs and buried his chin against the outdoor cedar siding.8:44 His rear end was entirely inside the kitchen, perfectly illuminated, belly bulging, completely helpless.8:52 He felt a pair of hands.8:53 Not angry hands, not rough ones.8:56 But very firm, flour-dusted hands wrapped around his plump little middle.9:01 Mrs.9:02 Gable didn't shout.9:03 She didn't fetch a broom.9:05 She just stood there for a long moment, looking at the crumbs scattered across her clean linoleum, looking at the half-eaten pastries on the table, and looking at the grey, striped backside currently plugging her pantry window.9:22 "You greedy little rascal," she murmured, half-amused, half-exasperated.9:28 She lifted the sash two inches higher.9:31 With one firm, decisive heave, Mrs.9:34 Gable pushed Remy straight through the opening.9:37 He tumbled out into the darkness, somersaulting through the cedar trellis before landing flat on his overstuffed stomach in the damp clover below.9:48 Oof.9:49 He lay there for a second, the breath knocked clear out of him, looking up at the warm light of the window.9:57 Above him, with a loud, final click, Mrs.10:00 Gable lowered the heavy sash, turned the brass lock, and pulled the white calico curtain shut.10:07 Remy scrambled into the underbrush as fast as his heavy belly would carry him, his claws churning up wet mulch.10:16 He didn't stop until he reached the hollow at the base of the old white oak near the creek bed.10:23 He curled up in the dry leaves, groaning softly.10:27 His stomach ached from the sheer weight of what he had taken.10:31 His ribs were bruised from the cedar sill.10:35 His pride, which had always been his finest coat, was thoroughly scraped raw.10:40 Through the rest of the night, while the moonlight shifted across the woodland floor, Remy listened to the crickets and the gentle rush of the stream.10:52 He looked down at his clever little paws—the paws that could open any latch, untie any knot, and take anything he set his eyes on.11:02 They were still quick paws.11:04 They were still clever.11:06 But as the dawn began to turn the eastern sky a pale, quiet grey, Remy tucked his nose beneath his tail and decided that being able to take everything in sight didn't mean you ought to.11:20 Down in the orchard, the wild blackberries were ripening in the morning sun, sweet and free, hanging low beneath the open sky.11:30 And out there, among the leaves, there wasn't a single window in the world to get stuck in.
