The Trash Pandas Are
Running the Neighborhood
A Pet Door Meant for My Cat Became an
Open Invitation for Santa Barbara’s Boldest Raccoons
By Callie Fausey | June 11, 2026
Read more from our 2026 Pets & Animals cover story here.
I’m no scientist, but I’ve discovered a new strand in the DNA of raccoons.
Audacity.
For months, these trash goblins have broken into my house to eat my cat’s food and wash their grubby little mitts in his water bowl.
Allow me to break the fourth wall? I know what you might be thinking: “Oh, but raccoons are so cute!” Save it.
Big Raccoon has pulled the wool over your eyes. Research shows that city-dwelling raccoons are actually physically changing in ways that humans find to be “cuter” — so when they inevitably trespass and steal, as is their nature, you bat your naive little eyelashes at them, or, God help us, feed them yourself. They are formidable opponents, I’ll admit.
You’re being played. But I’m not a sucker like you.
These deceptively fuzzy bandits are mafia bosses, but I’m Tony Soprano. I’ve never seen The Sopranos, but I know he suffers from panic attacks.
Yes, this is a satirical hate piece on raccoons. But I have a good reason. A personal vendetta, if you will.
It started when I moved into my house two years ago. It’s a small two-bedroom in a nice-enough neighborhood.
In my kitchen is a pet door leading to a tiny backyard surrounded by a fence that literally doesn’t keep anything out.
My cat, Yerba Maté, is indoor-outdoor.
Look, I know the arguments against this. But you do not know my cat. He was a stray I adopted from ASAP Cats. He is accustomed to the streets. So, listen, I know it’s frowned upon, but that’s just the way it is. I would keep him inside — and I have tried — if he would actually calm down for a second.
When I moved into this house, I was elated at the thought of no longer playing doorman for him. No creature on Earth is more indecisive than a cat on your threshold.
For the most part, I keep him in at night. The pet door comes with a cover. But my roommate and I both work nights, so sometimes we have to leave the door open for him to come home while we are away.
But, inadvertently, a pet door allows access to non-pet animals, too. I knew it was only a matter of time before the so-called “trash pandas” made their way inside, tempted by my cat’s food and water. Raccoons are everywhere on the streets of Santa Barbara, and while there is no exact population count, the official estimate is a heck of a lot of ’em, especially in residential areas where trash is abundant.
Thus, my war with the thieves guild of Santa Barbara. I close my cat door at night. They come earlier. I spray them with the hose. They dry off and come back. I yell at them through the window. They get up on their hind legs and look at me like, “Come outside then, coward. Speak with your fists.”
Even when I close the cat door, they loiter in the backyard. They scratch at the door. It’s infuriating.
One time, in a moment of weakness and exasperation, I threw a very tiny potted plant in their general direction to scare them off. No, it did not make contact. No, I am not an animal abuser. Disclaimer: I love animals. I really do. I do not think animals should be harmed, especially when they are just being animals. Even if they objectively suck, they all deserve respect.
But when they come onto my turf, and mess with my family? That’s when we’s got us a problem, capisce? Szzzzzz. Tew. (That was the sound of me taking a drag of a cigarette and then spitting on the ground).
Where was I? The potted plant missed its target and shattered into pieces on the ground. The family did not even flinch. They just stared, that thousand-yard “fuck you” stare. One of the adolescents then proceeded to pick up the pieces of my once-potted succulent and ran away with it on his hind legs.
Entitled brat.
Granted, Maté’s no angel.
I suspect he actually may have struck some deal with the raccoons. You know when bullies with slicked-back hair and toothpicks between their teeth ask poor, old store clerks to pay them for “protection” — when, in reality, the only danger is those same bullies going through the aisles armed with baseball bats? I think that may be happening here. The raccoons are the bullies, and Maté offers his food in exchange for his safety. I don’t blame him. He doesn’t have hands.
He does nothing to stop them. Sometimes, he will even loaf with them in the backyard like they’re buddies. I keep telling him he’s hanging out with the wrong crowd, but it’s like he can’t understand me or something.
I recently invested in a motion-activated fake owl that hoots and lights up because raccoons are afraid of owls. It did not work.
If anyone has any other tips, hit me up. But to the raccoon apologists: Stay out of my inbox.
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