Mr. White was under the house, determined to kill that raccoon. He carried an ax in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He regretted not listening to Gracey when she suggested waiting until morning when he could see better. He heard a scuffling noise from behind him. He whirled around, whacking his head on the porch. Why did they decide to build the porch above the ground? Just so creatures could live under there, or so he could hit his head on it frequently? Those were the only two logical reasons that he could think of at that moment.
“Won’t you please come out from under there and eat dinner?” Gracey called out to him. He could tell by her tone that she was getting quite agitated with him.
“Am I annoying you, my sweet?” he asked.
“Yes! The raccoon will still be there tomorrow when it’s more convenient for you to kill the darn thing,” Gracey said, and although he could not see her, he knew that she had her hands on her hips.
“I almost have it,” he exclaimed, whipping back around as the raccoon circled him for about the millionth time. Mr. White heard Gracey sigh heavily and the screen door slam shut. He did not understand why she minded that much. After all, he was not making her come out and do this. Not to mention, supper might be getting cold, but it was not like she slaved over it all day. She could not cook to save her life. So, she made TV dinners, or they ordered out. Tonight it was TV dinners, and Mr. White knew very well that he could heat those things up and they still tasted just as bad. Sometimes he did not know what was worse, Gracey’s cooking, or the TV dinners.