The Scavenger's Reflection

Around 12:30 pm or so I woke up and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. Usually I would do it in the kitchen sink where it's sanitary but I had slacked off the night before and forgot about the pile of dishes pouring out. The mirror was disgusting considering it wasn’t my bathroom. It was covered in fingerprints and debris from the last few people that brushed their teeth. There was soap still dripping down the reflecting glass but that wasn’t what I was looking at. Instead, staring back at me was squinty-eyed raccoon; unhappy about the situation we had seemed to get ourselves into.

“Was I on acid again,” I thought to myself.

He shook his head slightly back and forth while he scratched at the fur coating his chin, as if to say no.
We just stood there, looking into each others eyes, matching each other move for move, and then counteracting every step the other would take by moving in the opposite direction but still in an identical behavior.

“You know man, you’re really starting to fuck us. What about hierarchy needs? Didn’t think to include me in these times of change, did ya? It’s not even like we have our priorities mixed up, they are completely missing all together. You completely threw Maslow’s theory out of the window and I’m really beginning to think that your right mind should start consulting with me.”

It wasn’t strange that he was talking to me; it was more that I didn’t give my imagination that much credit, nor did I think my personification skills were that advanced.

Before I looked down to splash my face with water I turned off the light.

“Since when do raccoons talk intelligently?”