I was trying hard to fall asleep, but the raccoons outside were making noise finishing off the residue that remained in the bottom of Chairman Meow's food bowl. It wasn't the first time I had heard noises on the deck at night... the raccoons show up like clockwork every night about the same time to pick up any scraps my twenty-year-old, finicky feline leaves behind. It was later than usual... "Those pesky little critters should have come and gone by now." I thought to myself as I sat up in bed, and leaned forward to pull the curtain aside, and peered outside into the darkness. The Redwood deck was illuminated with moonlight, and I expected to see two or three masked bandits scampering about, but to my surprise, less than two feet in front of me, just on the other side of the big sliding glass door, stood an eight foot tall Sasquatch looking majestically away, not noticing me on the other side of the reflective glass. As I sat there camouflaged, looking up at the big hairy beast standing before me, I began to laugh out loud... realizing that I was dreaming.
There are no Squatch in Santa Cruz.